


SOLACE

by Wolfiekins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:01:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2724797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfiekins/pseuds/Wolfiekins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy Weasley has been reduced to a mere accounting clerk, his office in the basement of The Ministry.  Life had lost its flavour, until that one night in <i>The Mirthful Monk</i>, when <i>he'd<i> walked in.</i></i></p><p>
  <i>
    <i>WARNINGS:  Adult Language & Situations, Angst, UST, Masturbation, Explicit Sexual Content, AU Canon Divergence.</i>
  </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Certain elements in this story are borrowed from the incomparable Thevina, and are used here with her kind permission: The Belligerent Badger, Bitter Banshee, Triple Q (Quagmire’s Quidditch Quarterly), the phrase “Hell’s Harpies”, the concept of magical ambric energies, as well as the idea of Ron Weasley off surfing in Australia. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Harry Potter and all associated characters and settings remain the intellectual property of JK Rowling and her associates. No offence intended nor monies made through this presentation.

 

 

_**September, 2003** _

 

Percy Weasley threaded his way through the tightly packed throng of exuberant patrons, expertly balancing the very full pints he held in each hand. He drew the heavy glasses of Guinness in toward his body as another wave of whoops and cheers rippled through the crowded pub. Bursts of magical fireworks exploded above several tables; a moment later the disturbance subsided and he continued back to his seat. 

He muttered quiet curses under his breath as a particularly pissed bird bumped his right elbow, nearly upsetting one of his glasses of beer. The Mirthful Monk used to be a nice, quiet little pub known and frequented by only a few Ministry employees. Now, under new ownership, the place had become extremely trendy, as well as annoyingly busy. 

Terry was convinced that it was the plethora of Muggle wide-view video screens perpetually tuned to The Quidditch Channel; Percy was certain that the new slogan of _‘It’s always ladies’ night at the Monk’_ was the culprit. Percy finally reached their usual table in the far corner, right against the curtained window that spanned the front of the establishment. 

“Shite, Weasley, ‘bout time! I’m ready to pass out from thirst!” Terry Boot slumped in his chair, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, that's quite fetching,” Percy drawled, rolling his eyes as he set Terry’s Guinness down with a hearty thunk. 

Terry made a rude noise as he sat up and reached for his beer. “Too right! C’mon, it’s Friday night. We’re free from dementorville until Monday!” He hefted his glass high. “Cheers, eh?” 

Percy twirled a finger as he took a sip of his beer. 

Terry rolled his eyes, a frown ghosting across his features. He shrugged and took a deep pull on his own Guinness. “Now you’ll have to do better’n that, mate.”

“Rough week,” Percy said. “All that nonsense with the new expense account forms, then the sodding business with the rampaging hippogriffs in Henwald.” He shook his head. “Prats in Spell Reversal really need to learn how to fill out the AL / 515‘s correctly. Bloody pain in the arse to sort through.”

“Yeah, all true,” Terry replied, “but we’re here now. Time to relax and unwind.”

Percy took in the crowded, smoky scene unfolding around them. “So, when are we leaving then?”

“We’ve only just arrived,” Terry pointed out. “Good crowd, by the look. And I’ve got a feeling!” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Percy snorted. “Probably side effects from all that Indian take-away you had for lunch.”

Terry leaned back and folded his arms. 

Percy cocked his head to one side. “What?” He reached into the pocket of his robes, which were carefully arranged over the back of his chair, and extracted a pack of Muggle cigarettes.

Terry waved a hand dismissively, smacking his lips as he stared at the nearest video monitor. “Nothing, Perce, really. It’s just…whoa, look at that!” He gestured toward the wide screen, which was showing a replay of the manoeuvre. “Oy, that Goodwin sure can handle a broom, right?” He downed more of his beer, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “For such a bright bloke, you can be incredibly dense at times.”

Percy tapped the end of his cigarette against the tabletop. He was used to his cube mate’s somewhat annoying propensity toward verbosity, which increased dramatically when he was shnockered. It was actually endearing in a perverse sort of way. Too bad he wasn‘t attracted to the sandy-haired Ravenclaw; it would have simplified things immensely. He sighed, ducking slightly as a wave of miniature Quidditch players swooped by, scant inches above his head. 

“Okay, Terry. Don’t mince words. Tell me what you _really_ think.” He snapped his fingers and the tip of the cigarette blazed orange. Leaning back, he took a long drag, blowing the smoke out in a series of ever-diminishing rings. 

“I’ve said it before,” Terry replied after another large swallow of Guinness.

“And you’ll say it again,” Percy countered, taking a small sip of his own beer.

Terry gestured expansively. “This. All this is just lost on you, isn‘t it? Look at everything going on here! Can’t you just feel it? The game, the laughter, all the gorgeous blokes! Everyone having a grand time and enjoying themselves. Except you.”

Percy did his best not to laugh out loud. Terry was a certified prat. No question. But he was also one of the very few at The Ministry to treat him with the barest modicum of respect and decency both during and after The War. The fact that they were both shirt lifters probably went a long way in explaining their odd friendship. Now that sounded strange; when was the last time he’d had someone to call a friend? Terry certainly fit the definition; it was rare that they weren’t firmly planted in some pub or in the whirlpool at the gym or fooling about on their broomsticks over some pitch. Was there more to it than that? Surely not. But Terry was at times rather tactile and affectionate. And he did have the most lovely, warm brown eyes. And a decent arse. 

Percy leaned over their small, beer-slicked table. “And exactly why is _all this_ lost on me, then? Just because I‘m not whooping and hollering and flailing about like a doxy in heat doesn‘t mean that I‘m not having a grand time.” He arched an eyebrow and sipped his Guinness. 

Terry leaned forward as well, his fingers barely caressing Percy’s. “No, I don’t expect you to make an arse of yourself; all I’m sayin’ is, I’d like to see you loosen up, let go, forget all about files and forms and expense reports. Let your hair down and have at it, mate. _This_ is exactly why we toil away in that ruddy basement office five days a week. Don‘t know about you, but I work to live, not the other way around.”

“Thanks for sharing,” Percy replied wryly.

Terry growled. “You know, sometimes I think you just _enjoy_ being difficult.”

“Boring,” Percy replied. “Nothing new here.”

“Cheers!” Terry shot back. “You know I’m right, though. War’s done and over, nearly two years now. Crouch was Imperioused and it wasn’t your fault Scrimgeour was a glamoured Snakeface. No one knew. So quit blaming yourself, and get on with it!”

Percy gulped down most of his Guinness. “Don’t be daft. I _don’t_ blame myself for what happened. Faced with the same situation, I’d do it all over again. It’s everyone else, all of them, that accepted every single thing _The Prophet_ printed without question. You know what people still say about me.” He twirled his hand leaving a swirl of cigarette smoke. “We’ve been over this.”

“Yeah, we’ve skimmed the surface, but you refuse to do anything other than that. Fuck what most of those skrewt-for-brains tossers say,” Terry slurred valiantly. 

“I may not be on speaking terms with my family, but I’d prefer that you didn’t refer to them like that, thanks very much.”

Terry rolled his eyes. “I was talking about the general public, not your family. Speaking of which…”

“We’re not having _that_ conversation,” Percy snapped, folding his arms and turning to peer out between a gap in the heavy green curtains. He then jabbed out the stub of his cigarette as he blew smoke from the side of his mouth. “I suggest we drop that subject if you’re intent on trying to lighten the mood.” He lit another cigarette and stared at Terry with what he hoped was his sternest expression. 

“Sorry, sorry, don’t get all pissy on me, mate. Just trying to help.” Terry shrugged and stared at the huge telly behind and above Percy. “But in the interests of salvaging the evening, I’ll let you off the hook, for now.” He downed the last of his Guinness and signalled for another just as the entire pub erupted into more whoops and cheers. “Damn, that Goodwin’s the best Seeker I’ve seen in years!”

Percy sipped his own beer tentatively, hoping that Terry’s renewed interest in the Puddlemere vs. Ballycastle match just might be enough to derail his friend’s definitely annoying train of thought. He sighed, wondering when he’d lost interest in Quidditch. He’d been a Puddlemere United fan for as long as he could remember. His whole family were fans as well, save Ron, of course. He shifted about in his seat so as to get a better view of the wide screen telly. 

He didn’t recognize any of the current players; had it been that long? Yes, apparently it had, a good four or five years at least. Right about the time his entire family turned their backs on him. 

Ballycastle’s Keeper made an incredible one-handed hanging save, driving the pub crowd wild. 

“Beautiful!” Terry crowed, flipping the server a Sickle and taking a huge swig of beer. “See that, Perce? What a play!”

Percy nodded robotically, lost in thought. They’d all abandoned him, every single member of his family, all because he’d made a decision to stand his ground. How would it have been if he’d suddenly changed his mind every time the winds changed direction? That was one thing they’d never understand. Showing loyalty and dedication to one’s superior is every bit as important as showing it to your family. Being supportive, especially during dark times, or when it might be unpopular to do so. He’d tried to make his father understand. And Bill, and Charlie. But they’d refused to see things his way. Even his Mum eventually stopped answering his owls. 

And he’d be damned if he was going to be the one to back down first. He’d lost a great deal during the last few years, been demoted, publicly humiliated, ostracized, and one of the few things he had left intact was his pride. He’d rather kiss a dementor’s arse than swallow that. If they came to him, he’d be reasonable. But they weren’t exactly Apparating to his doorstep, now were they? 

The pub echoed with more cheers as Puddlemere scored. Several of the miniature Quidditch players swooped toward Percy, executing a perfect Sullivan’s Feint before flying away. Taking a few healthy swallows of Guinness, he returned to his thoughts.

There’d been a few tense moments at Fred’s funeral. He’d waited until he’d thought all of them were gone. He’d been lost in thought, staring at the freshly mounded rectangle of earth when Charlie had roughly thumped his shoulder. He’d been caught by surprise, of course, and had quickly decided to let his older brother speak his mind first. Which he did. With a vengeance. And it became pretty clear to Percy that Charlie wasn’t really interested in hearing a word that he might have had to say. Not that his brother gave him the chance to speak anyway. Much the same thing happened when Percy crossed paths with his father and George at St. Mungo’s right after the final battle of The War.

Another eruption of yells drew Percy back to the pub. Puddlemere had caught the Snitch and won the match. He looked over at Terry, who was gesturing to the server about something. He quickly drained his Guinness, plunking the heavy glass to the table with a bang. 

“Perfect timing, mate,” Terry called out over the din. “You’ve got a free one coming!” He nodded to the approaching server.

Percy tried not to stare at Duncan’s obscenely tight Muggle jeans; he could practically make out the young bloke’s religion. 

“Thank Merlin it’s Friday, right?” Duncan said in his thick brogue. 

Terry reached out and cupped Duncan’s denim-clad arse. “Thank Merlin for tight Levi’s!”

Duncan pressed into Terry’s hand, grinding his hips slightly. He winked at Percy, who rolled his eyes. Duncan handed out two fresh pints and four shot glasses filled to the brims with a golden brown liquid. He jerked his head over his shoulder and toward the bar. “Compliments of the two blokes in blue,” Duncan said with a smile. “Now if things don’t work out, you two know where to find me, okay?“

Terry drew in a deep breath and fumbled in his robes, pulling out a galleon and stuffing it down the front pocket of Duncan’s denims. “Thanks, love. Stay close.”

Duncan winked and strode away through the crowd. 

Terry grinned widely as he grabbed one of the shot glasses and waggled his eyebrows. “Things are looking up, I’d say.” 

“A fool and his money,” Percy commented.

“Bah! You have to keep the help happy if you want good service,” Terry replied.

Percy laughed. “Somehow I don’t think our Duncan will provide the expected service.”

Terry nodded. “Mate, he’d do us both. I know it for a fact.” 

“Bloody hell,” Percy shot back. “You’re delusional.”

“Mayhap, but I know Duncan fancies you,” Terry replied. “Plenty of blokes are into ginger hair.”

Percy waved a hand and sipped his Guinness.

Terry gestured toward their benefactors at the bar. “And have a look over there, mate, and tell me I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing!”

Percy craned his neck to get a better look at the fellows that had sent the drinks. They were both blond, stocky, and young. _Very_ young. And if they weren’t twins, they should have been, as they were dressed exactly alike. He nodded slightly as both blonds smiled and hefted their pints in unison. He groaned. 

Terry laughed. “Up your bum!” he boomed, downing his shot. He nodded vigorously. “Go on, go on! 

Percy stared for a moment before picking up a shot and downing it. The alcohol was warm, but smooth as it worked its way down his throat. He hadn’t intended on getting pissed, but considering how the tide of the evening was flowing, it didn’t seem like a bad idea after all. A few more pints and everything would be fine. In a display of sudden enthusiasm, he swallowed his second drink, which was met by energetic applause from Terry.

“That’s good scotch,” Terry said just before downing his own last shot.

The crowd had thinned out considerably since the end of the match. The video screens were now displaying a wide variety of channels, ranging from the Wizarding News Network to the Divination Channel. The swarms of toy Quidditch players were now hovering in formation over the bar. Percy could already feel the alcohol at work as a pleasant warmth filled his brain. If he played it right, he’d drink just enough to blur the edges a bit without crossing over the line into stupidity. 

His bathroom mirror was ruthless when he was hung over…

Terry grinned and nodded away at the two blonds like a sodding first year. He‘d turned about in his chair to face them, his legs spread apart slightly with the fingers of one hand barely grazing the bulge in his denims. “Oh, I think we’re going to get lucky tonight, Perce!” 

Percy nodded as he took a deep swallow of Guinness. “You, maybe.”

Terry gaped at him. “Aww, don’t say it, please.”

“Fine. I won’t say it then.”

Terry shook his head. “Did you take a good look at those two? They’re gorgeous! Delicious! Delectable!”

“They probably have some sort of disease,” Percy countered dryly. “I’m not a slag, you know.”

“Oh, shite! _Now_ what are you on about?” Terry glanced nervously over at the pair of blonds, who were standing up and making quite a show of shrugging into their matching Ballycastle jackets. 

Percy shrugged as he lit another cigarette. “I do have standards, Terry. I’m not going to throw myself at some bloke’s feet simply because they spent a few sickles on some alcohol.” _Although I've been known to do just that on more than a few occaisions_ , he thought to himself. He certainly wasn't above a quick shag with a handsome stranger; he just wasn't going to concede the point to Terry just then. 

The Ballycastle twins were now standing by the door, apparently ready to depart The Mirthful Monk for greener pastures. 

Terry looked ready to jump out of his skin. “C’mon mate, they’re leaving!”

Percy leaned back in his chair and demurely sipped his beer. “I can see that.”

“But don’t you want to…” Terry began.

“No, I don’t care to follow the blond bombshells outside and into the nearest alley for a glorious, pants-about-the-ankles, bare-arse-against-damp-brick blow job. But feel free, if you’re so inclined. I’ll save your seat for you.”

Terry actually moaned as the Ballycastle twins pushed through the door and outside. He stood up and watched over the curtain as they strode past on the sidewalk and disappeared from sight. With a heavy sigh, he flounced back into his seat. 

“I could do with a nice blow job, truth be told,” he muttered as he sipped his beer.

Percy hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “If you hurry, you might still catch them.”

“S’alright. Another few weeks and me and my right hand’ll be common law.”

“Lovely,” Percy replied wryly.

Terry eyed him evenly. “Really, you were offended because they bought us drinks?”

“Not offended, per se. Just mildly annoyed, I suppose.”

“Annoyed?”

Percy shifted in his seat. “Okay, as I see it, they sent drinks over in order to dull our senses enough so that we’d be more likely to snog and shag or wrap ourselves in cling film or whatever it was they wanted.”

Terry blinked. “Still not seeing the problem, Perce.”

“You know I don’t like it when you call me that.”

“I know, _Perce_ , but like I said…”

“Well, if they were _really_ interested in getting to know us,” Percy huffed, “they’d have just walked over and struck up a conversation instead of oiling us up from a safe distance. Easier to throw money at someone than to try to talk to them, yes?”

Terry was shaking his head. “You’re muddled, you know that?”

“Why? Because I might actually want to know and like someone before we fuck?”

“Which explains why we haven’t.”

“Too right. Precisely because I _do_ know you, and _don’t_ like you.”

Terry sipped his Guinness thoughtfully. “So you want to be chatted up first, then.”

“Yes, more or less,” Percy admitted. “And I’d like someone a bit mature, someone who knows what they want and isn’t afraid to go after it.”

“I think you’re being far too picky.”

Percy shrugged. “Not at all. I just really haven’t run across anyone that seems truly interesting.”

Terry grinned crookedly. “I know one or two blokes that’d be happy to hop on your knob.”

Percy pulled a face. “Thanks, that. I feel so much better now.”

Terry sighed and slumped in his chair. “Bloody hell, you’re a major pain in the arse.” He jerked his glass in Percy’s direction, sloshing out most of the remainder of his Guinness in the process. “Quit thinking so much and get out there and grab some gusto! A nice, guilt-free shag would do wonders for you. Merlin knows you could have me if you wanted.”

Percy jabbed out the cigarette, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth. He could just make out what looked decidedly like sorrow in Terry’s eyes. Yeah, he was a complete and total git most of the time, but all in all he was a decent fellow deep down, even if he did burp his soup all the time. He patted Terry’s hand gently. “Terry, mate, that’s nice of you to say…”

“I mean it,” Terry said.

“I’m sure you do.”

“But I’m not your type.”

“No, sorry, but you’re not,” Percy confirmed. “And workplace romances never work out. But even beyond all that…”

Terry nodded his head. “Yeah, yeah, we can still be friends, blah blah blah.”

Percy leaned forward. “You know all that shite you just shovelled at me can apply to you as well.”

Terry shrugged. “True enough.” He sipped his Guinness, looking about the pub. “How about this, then. Look at all the blokes left in here, and pick one that is closest to what you’d want. Then we’ll go from there.”

Percy folded his arms. “How first year can you get.”

“Humour me, okay?”

“Fine,” Percy sighed. He was rapidly losing the will to debate, so he scanned the pub, quickly cataloguing the men as he went. The Mirthful Monk wasn’t strictly a queer establishment, so there were bound to be as many straight wizards as gay. There were more than a few handsome fellows, to be sure, but tonight’s crop was comprised of mostly beefy sports types, older, silver-haired blokes and a handful of impossibly young trendy kids. 

“Nope, nothing, really,” he answered finally. 

Terry threw up his hands. “You’re hopeless.”

Percy grinned. “It’s a curse having such discriminating taste, but it’s a burden I must bear.”

“Arsehole,” Terry muttered over his glass. 

Percy was about to utter a blisteringly sharp retort when the outer door to the pub squeaked open and closed. “Takes one…” He stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth frozen open for the briefest of moments. “…to know one.”

Terry stared. “What?” The next second, his eyes flew wide. “Oh, let’s see what just walked in, shall we?” He turned around to watch the new arrival take a seat at the bar. He turned to face Percy, grinning from ear to ear. “Should’ve known you were a star-fucker, Perce.”

Percy finished his Guinness while out of the corner of his eye he watched Harry Potter order his first drink. “You’ve been hanging about in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department again, haven’t you?”

“Don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not.”

“You fancy Potter,” Terry stated triumphantly, grinning as he mimed stroking himself.

“Ridiculous,” Percy said, grabbing his empty glass and praying to Circe that his hastily schooled features hadn‘t betrayed him. The glass reached his lips before he realized it was empty.

“Don’t jerk me about,” Terry grinned. “I’ve known you long enough to know better. And you’re blushing, too. Nothing wrong with Potter. Bloody easy on the eyes, that’s certain, but not my type, though.”

Even though he fought the impulse, Percy still glanced briefly in Harry’s direction. Terry noted the quick look and grunted in satisfaction. Percy pointedly stared at the crown moulding in the far corner above the door. 

Terry motioned to Duncan for more Guinness. “Look, Perce, just walk on over to him…”

“I don’t fancy Harry Potter!” Percy blurted out. The couple at the table next to them turned in his direction. Terry chuckled as Duncan sauntered over to their table and laid out two more pints. 

“Okay, fine,” Terry said as he paid Duncan. “That’s why you can’t take your eyes off him.”

Percy pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. Of all the wizards in Britain to darken this pub’s doorstep, it had to be him, the sodding saviour of the Wizarding world. In the two years since Potter had returned to The Ministry, Percy had never seen him in The Mirthful Monk. Sure, they’d passed each other in the halls from time to time, and had bumped elbows in the commissary once or twice, but that was the extent of their contact. They’d never really been on speaking terms anyway, and after that business with Ron…

“Wasn’t Potter shagging your younger brother for awhile?” Terry waggled his eyebrows as he sipped his Guinness.

Percy slid his glasses back into place and glanced toward Harry, who was drinking some sort of amber lager. “Yeah. He was with Ron for a bit.”

“But they broke up.”

“Yes.”

“A while ago.”

“Yes. Just after the war ended and Ron took off to Australia.” Percy guzzled down a good portion of his beer. Another glance toward the bar, and this time Harry’s green eyes met his. Percy froze, the glass to his lips, unable to look away. After what seemed like an eternity, Harry nodded slightly and looked away at one of the video screens. Percy took another sizable gulp of Guinness and set the glass down with a thunk.

Terry stared at him intently. “You really _do_ fancy him, don’t you?”

_Flipping flaming doxies on a crutch!_ So perhaps he did find Potter attractive. And desirable. And bloody hot. But that was all beside the point. 

_Wasn’t it?_

He couldn‘t, shouldn‘t, _wouldn‘t_ allow himself to even entertain the possibility of snogging Potter. Or worse. He glared across the small table. “It‘s irrelevant what I think of Potter.”

“I think you should go for it, mate.”

“Terry, I don’t want to discuss it.”

Terry glanced toward Harry, who was staring at them again. “Well, he certainly keeps looking over here.”

Percy groaned and finished his beer. He dared another look to the end of the bar. He noted that Harry had turned about on his bar stool and was now facing their table, his legs spread slightly and his glass of beer resting on his rather prominent, denim-clad bulge. His expression was maddeningly unreadable. And Terry was right about one thing…Harry was sodding gorgeous. Percy watched as Harry drank from his glass. Some foam remained on his lips and he languidly licked it away with the tip of his tongue. 

Percy remembered to breathe. _Bollocks!_

“Right, one thing settled tonight,” Terry observed.

Percy tore his attentions away from the bar. “Time to go, yes?” He slid off his stool and fumbled with his robes. “Early day tomorrow.”

Terry nodded and downed the remainder of his beer. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“Of course it is,” Percy snapped as he shrugged into his robes. “I don’t sleep the day away like some people do.” 

“Okay, have it your way,” Terry sighed, shaking his head.

Percy headed for the door. He looked back one last time to see Harry still watching him calmly. _Was he smiling just the slightest bit?_ The next instant, Terry was shoving him out the door and onto the sidewalk. 

“Manners!” Percy spluttered as he tried to straighten his robes. 

Terry glared at him, his brown eyes bright in the light of the nearby streetlamp. “Look, mate, I’m in the mood for some action. I’m heading over to The Dragon’s Lair. Come with?”

Percy actually considered the option for a moment. There was never a shortage of lovely boys at The Lair; plenty of vampires, too. It would certainly go a long way toward taking his mind off of the green-eyed wonder. But the pub was on the other side of London, and his head was beginning to ache ever so perfectly. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “Sorry. Count me out.”

“C’mon, Perce,” Terry whinged, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “It’ll be a nice change of pace and do you a world of good. Just for a bit, yeah?”

“Perhaps next time,” he answered with what he hoped was a warm smile.

Terry nodded slowly, unable to hide his disappointment. “Right. I’m off then.” He leaned in, leaving a sloppy, wet kiss on Percy’s cheek. “See you on Monday.” He turned and walked away, finally Apparating with a sharp crack. 

Percy stood there for a few moments, shivering. The air was heavy and cold; it smelled of mustiness and damp, rain on the way for certain. He set off down the sidewalk, pulling his robes tight against the unseasonable chill. Terry would be unbearable around the office now that his friend had it in his little head that he fancied Potter. Percy growled to himself at the thought of all the poking and prodding Terry was sure to unleash upon him. But Potter was bloody handsome, had a winning smile, and the most delectable arse in The Ministry. And there was no denying the looks and stares that they’d exchanged in the pub. 

“You’re losing it, Perce, if you’re seriously considering this,” he muttered to himself as he crossed a side street. 

But what was the problem, then? Well, that was easy: part of him naturally recoiled at the idea of becoming entangled with Ron’s ex-lover. Merlin knew what his younger brother had told Harry about _him_. Not that he cared, nor was he worried about what his estranged family would say. So really, why was he so adverse to a relationship with Harry? Percy stopped dead in the centre of the sidewalk, hands on hips, head cocked to one side. Where in Circe’s loins had _THAT_ come from? How did he move from merely snogging and shagging Potter to having a sodding _relationship_ with him? 

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, pulling up his hood against the fine mist that had just begun to fall. Taking a deep breath, he was about to continue on his way when a hand clamped on his shoulder. 

“Fuck!” Percy squealed, jumping slightly and whirling about.

“Nice night for it,” Harry said, a crooked grin on his face.

Percy goggled, immediately at a loss for words. “Um, yes,” was all he managed to say.

Harry nodded down the street. “This way,” he said, taking Percy by the arm and almost dragging him along the sidewalk. 

Percy’s mind was aswirl. Between the pints and shots, his brain was just fuzzy enough to prevent properly coherent thought. He looked down at Harry, who gazed back hungrily. Percy felt a shudder of desire course through him as Harry licked his lips and pulled him in closer. Harry looked absolutely delicious, his damp hair plastered to his forehead, his green eyes nearly luminescent in the dim light from the streetlamps. “Where are we going?” Percy asked in what he hoped was a stable voice.

“Not far,” Harry replied. 

Before he could formulate another question, Harry made a hard right and lead him into a rather narrow alley. They moved several feet down the alleyway before Harry whirled about and slammed Percy soundly against the damp bricks. 

“We’re here,” Harry breathed as he framed Percy’s face with both hands. The next instant, he leaned up and crashed their lips together.

Percy’s yelp of pleasure was smothered as Harry’s tongue pushed over his own and into his mouth. Harry also began thrusting his denim-clad erection into Percy’s thigh. Percy’s initial largesse evaporated quickly, and he grabbed Harry’s arse with both hands. He kneaded and squeezed Harry’s gorgeous butt with abandon, returning Harry’s advances in kind and thrusting his own erection into Harry’s waist. 

Harry pulled away, stepping back for a moment, his hands now flat on Percy’s chest. Licking his lips, he quickly pushed Percy’s robes open and over his shoulders. Before they hit the damp concrete, he’d already undone Percy’s belt and fly. 

Percy reached out and ran a hand over Harry’s cheek, gasping as his trousers and under shorts were roughly shoved down and past his hips. 

“Gods,” he gasped as Harry fell to his knees and took his hard cock in one hand while the other fondled his balls. 

Harry pushed him backward into the cool, damp wall. 

Percy groaned as Harry’s hot mouth closed over his erection, Harry’s tongue swirling about like mad. He flattened himself against the wall as Harry suckled and laved at his cock with amazing agility. He threaded the fingers of one hand through Harry’s damp hair while Harry moved up and down his length with increasing speed. His breath shuddered in his chest as Harry raked his teeth along the underside of his erection, while the fingers of Harry’s fondling hand moved behind his sacs to tease his entrance. 

Percy arched his back, his head thumping against the brick as he thrust his hips, pushing his length into Harry‘s mouth, who responded by sucking and pulling on his cock even harder. Harry’s probing finger pressed just inside his tight ring of muscle, and he yelped again, his mind reeling as he neared release. He bucked once more before he came, Harry milking his cock with fervour, both hands now firmly clamped on his hips. Harry took his entire load, slowly releasing his spent cock with a final flick of the tongue.

Percy slumped, his bare buttocks slapping against the bricks. He watched Harry stand without comment, his brain still not adequately processing that he’d just been blown by The Boy Who Lived. And not only that, but sucked dry as well. 

Harry groaned, licking his lips most seductively. He leaned up and kissed Percy once more, running his hands up and under Percy’s jumper, gently caressing Percy’s furred stomach and chest. 

Percy moaned with pleasure, but before he could draw Harry in closer, the shorter wizard pulled away. 

“What?” Percy managed to mumble.

Harry took a few more steps backward and Apparated away with a soft pop. 

Percy blinked, unable to believe that Harry had just left him there without so much as a word. His senses returned to him with a vengeance, and he was cold, wet, and tired all at once. He yanked up his shorts and trousers, quickly zipping up and buckling his belt, all the while glancing up and down the alley for any signs of other late night walkers. 

He gathered up his robes, casting a drying charm before shrugging into them. He strode quickly to the end of the alley, pausing to look each way before stepping out onto the sidewalk, chastising himself for thinking that perhaps Harry might be standing there, waiting. 

“Arsehole,” he muttered as he put up his hood. With a final glance down the alley, he Apparated to his flat.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

Percy awoke on his not-so-comfy sofa late the next morning, his head filled with a herd of rampaging hippogriffs and Hermes glowering down upon him with obvious disapproval. A few swallows of Madame Ciara’s Patented Hangover Draught calmed the stampede in his brain, while a handful of ferret flavoured treats placated his rather testy owl. The day had dawned cold and wet, the sky a nearly featureless blanket of grey. He stared at the monochromatic cityscape for a very long time, trying to sort the events of the last evening into some semblance of order. He was sure his encounter with Harry hadn’t been an alcohol-drenched hallucination; it had felt too fabulously fantastic to have been imaginary. And Harry’s crooked grin was etched into his mind with perfect clarity. 

The balance of the weekend passed with excruciating slowness. 

He never left his flat once, spending a great deal of time fussing with his latest canvas, yet another view of the pond and greenery near The Burrow. He felt fairly satisfied with his flora and fauna, but he could never quite capture the elusive qualities of the clouds to his satisfaction. He’d been trying to reproduce a particularly memorable line of storm clouds with little success; his sky looked more like a roiling sea, which wasn’t entirely horrible, but not at all what he’d intended to paint. Images of his encounter in the alley with Harry kept invading his thoughts, so much so that he took a break from painting to wallow in his favourite porn video, _Aurors In Love_. Unfortunately, the on-screen smut did nothing to squelch the Harry-esque visions in his brain. Unable to resist his urges, he disabled the function that allowed the actors to interact with the viewer and stroked himself off to one of the more imaginative scenes in the film, Harry’s name on his lips and his release all over the sofa cushions. 

Saturday afternoon flowed into Saturday evening, and Terry owled with an invite to The Dragon’s Lair. His cube mate babbled on about a date with a set of werewolf twins, one of whom was ‘wild about ginger hair.’ He scribbled a hasty reply declining the offer, rousting a clearly annoyed Hermes and practically shoving him out of the window. As delectable as Terry’s prospect sounded, he couldn’t fight the odd sensation that he’d somehow be betraying Harry, as if _that_ made any sense. In addition, he just didn’t feel like venturing out. He broke the seal on a new bottle of Oban, working for a bit more on his canvas. He finally dozed off on the sofa again, his dreams filled with dark, damp alleys and flashing green eyes. 

Sunday was much the same outside as in, and Percy passed the time reading and listening to the Wizarding Wireless. He successfully managed to keep images of Harry at bay, concentrating instead on his Muggle novel, finding the somewhat campy overtones and intrigue of Dashiell Hammett much more enjoyable than they should have been. He was almost finished with ‘Woman in the Dark,’ with ‘Secret Agent X-9’ up next. An owl arrived mid-afternoon, carrying a small card that read:

_‘We’ll have to do that again sometime. Soon. You know where to find me.’_

The bird must have been instructed to leave as soon as the message was delivered, so Percy couldn’t have sent a response even if he’d wanted to.

Evening tea consisted of delivery from the local Muggle eatery that specialized in Mediterranean cuisine. Percy ordered from the place with sufficient regularity that he was on a first name basis with every delivery boy. This time he drew Nigel, an impossibly young, incredibly built blond teen with a knowing smile who wore his low-slung jeans and tight t-shirts as if they were weapons. Nigel always received a big tip; and it wasn’t just because he always brought extra napkins for the hummus and baba ganoush.

He allowed himself the luxury of a another slow, languorous wank after his takeaway, and while the stud in his mind’s eye started out as a very hirsute Nigel in nothing but a leather thong and nipple clamps, by the time he reached release, Nigel had morphed into a raven-haired, green-eyed bloke with a crooked smile and a scar on his forehead. Another tumbler of Oban before he retired seemed to successfully eliminate his subconscious Harry fantasies. 

Monday morning presented itself with little fanfare and Percy found a rather pleased yet bruised Terry already in their tiny office when he arrived at his usual time of half-past eight. By lunch, Percy could recite Terry’s weekend encounter with the pair of lycan twins in the loo of The Dragon’s Lair verbatim. Strangely, Terry was completely silent on the topic of Harry, which led Percy to believe that his office mate had been replaced with a doppelganger. Either that, or he’d become human over the past weekend. 

The work week progressed predictably, a mass of mis-directed owls, incomplete forms, lost vouchers and missing or incorrect purchase requisitions. He and Terry dutifully maintained their now painfully familiar weekly routine. Monday evening, The Monk; Tuesday evening, gymnasium, where true to form, Terry insisted on pointing out suitable, probable conquests for himself, Percy, or both of them together. 

By Wednesday, Percy had seen neither hide nor hair of Harry at The Ministry, which wasn’t entirely unusual, but oddly, the newest Auror had suddenly developed a decided lack of coherence as to filling out his paperwork correctly. Harry’s stack of improper requisitions and expense reports was growing at an alarming rate. If the current trend continued, Percy wouldn’t be able to finish his month’s end report on time. And that particular summary was due Friday afternoon. 

Percy had sent Harry two inter-office owls but had so far received no response. He fussed and clucked to Terry about the injustice of it all, but Terry merely insisted that perhaps a face to face confrontation was in order. After Wednesday morning’s owl returned without a reply, Percy decided Terry was regrettably correct, and that it was high time to pay Harry a visit to discuss the plethora of botched forms and requisitions. Shoving the huge stack of error-laden paperwork into his case, he marched from their office with as much bravado as he could muster. Terry said nothing, but blew kisses at him as he strode past. 

The Auror’s wing was on Level Four, well above the location of his and Terry’s office on the Main Level. Percy snorted as he stood before the bank of lifts, as owls, ravens and the occasional gull flew by overhead, winging parchments, memos or parcels to their various destinations. 

“Main Level, indeed,” he muttered sullenly. 

Since the ground floor was referred to as Level One, the term ‘main’ was a completely disingenuous way to refer to what was actually the basement. Some berk had most likely been paid very handsomely to come up with _that_ one.

The lifts were taking their sweet old time, and Percy, his impatience swiftly morphing into annoyance, whirled about and pushed open the door to the stairwell. He was more than a bit distressed to note that his stomach felt as though it were filled with a clutch of bandyflies. He took the stairs two at a time, his mind racing. _He had to get a grip!_ It was ludicrous that the very idea of seeing Harry had somehow pushed him into overdrive. He had to focus, concentrate on the business at hand. 

_Right._

By the time he reached the Fourth Level, Percy was no more focused, but he was thoroughly winded. Gasping for breath, he straightened his robes and scanned the directory for Harry’s office. He found it: _Potter, H. A2C, 413B_. A few moments later, he found himself in front of what looked like a broom closet, except that the stencilled printing on the door proclaimed the space beyond as suite 413 A  & B. 

Taking a deep breath, Percy drew himself up and schooled his features. He turned the knob and pushed firmly, only to have it open about halfway before stopping rather abruptly. Three things happened at once: there was a bang and a thump, Percy yelped loudly as his nose impacted the door, and someone growled in annoyance.

“Circe’s tits, how about a knock before barging into a bloke‘s office?” 

Percy winced, rubbing his nose and peering about the door, just in time to see a completely dishevelled bloke stand up and smooth out his trousers. From what he could tell, the fellow had been reclined in his chair, reading what looked like the latest edition of _The Quibbler_. He squeezed through the narrow opening, his eyes going wide at the tiny space. There was a small, high window opposite the door, and the ‘office’ was scarcely wide enough to accommodate the two desks that were shoved against the opposing walls. There was barely enough space between the desks for one chair, and Percy was certain that both occupants couldn’t possibly sit down at the same time. His closet at The Burrow was probably larger than this cubby hole. 

“Can I help you?” the fellow asked.

Percy blinked, clearing his throat. “Oh, yes, of course. Sorry for the disturbance. I didn’t realize your office was, um, well…”

“Bloody smaller than a rat’s arse?” the Auror replied sardonically. “We prefer the term cosy, ourselves.” He paused a long moment, as if waiting for something, before putting out his hand. “Auror Second Class Ken Towler, at your service.”

Percy returned the handshake. “Percy Weasley, General Accounting.”

Towler grimaced. “Shite. What have I done now?”

Percy nearly laughed out loud. “Nothing, that is to say I don’t have anything of yours that needs correction. Actually, I’m looking for Harry Potter.” _'So I can reciprocate for the amazing blow job he gave me the other night,'_ he thought, barely masking the smile that threatened to force its way to his lips. 

Towler nodded and they both glanced about the office, which took a grand total of two seconds. 

“Oh, well, Harry’s not here, obviously,” Towler said with relief. “Just missed him, though. Don’t know where he’s off to. We don’t spend a great deal of time here.”

Percy nodded as a large barn owl swooped in and dropped a banded bunch of parchments on Towler’s already overflowing desk. “I see. Well, I have a great deal of corrected paperwork that requires his signature.” He withdrew the stack of parchments from his case, carefully placing them in the centre of Harry’s blotter. “Have Ha--Potter contact me if he has any question, yes?”

Towler nodded sagely, eyeing the stack of paper warily. “Will do. Does Harry know where to contact you? Your office is in Gen Accounting, Level Two, right?”

“Um, no,” Percy replied.

“Level One, then,” Towler said as he Accioed a quill to scribble down the information.

Percy shook his head. “Afraid not.”

Towler pulled a face. “Oy. The Dungeon, eh? Right.” His quill scritched across a corner of _The Quibbler_. “I’ll tell Harry you need those processed straightaway.” he smiled and nodded, standing there as if waiting for something. “Well, good seeing you. Been a long time.”

Percy cocked his head to one side. “Sorry, but…” he murmured, and as soon as he said the words, recollection dawned on him. “Of course. Ken. Fred and George’s dorm mate from Hogwarts.” He felt himself redden, instantly hating himself for it. How could he have forgotten one of the Four Musketeers? His brothers, Lee Jordan and Towler had given The Marauders’ reputation a good run for the money. But it had been nearly a decade since he’d seen Towler, and the Auror had filled out considerably, among other things. 

“It’s the beard,” Towler replied, “and this, too,” he finished, indicating the top of his bald head. “Worse luck I suppose.”

Percy laughed nervously. “Apologies, Ken. A bit distracted today. End of month reports due and all that. You know.” 

Towler nodded. “No worries. Well, now that you know the way, don’t be a stranger. Right?”

Percy nodded as he backed out, bumping into the door and nearly falling backward in the process. “Sure, sure, Ken. We’ll do lunch.”

“Fine, good,” Towler said. “And Percy…”

Percy was nearly through the door. “Yes?”

“Sorry about Fred,” Towler offered quietly. “I didn’t see you about at the time. I know how much I miss him. Can’t imagine what it’s like for you. And your sister, too. I’m so sorry, mate.”

Percy blinked, completely at a loss. He wanted to respond, but his throat felt as though it had constricted to the width of a pinhead. He swallowed and nodded, barely rasping out a “Thanks” as he pulled the door closed. Once in the hallway, he slumped against the wall, his heart thudding in his chest. _What in Merlin’s Hairy Balls was going on, anyway?_ Ever since the encounter in the alley, he’d been on an emotional roller coaster. Wild flights of fancy concerning Harry, and now a most unwelcome trip down memory lane. 

“Shite,” he muttered, straightening his robes and ducking into the nearest men’s loo. The bank of mirrors over the sinks chittered away about the restrictions against smoking in public buildings, but Percy cast a _Muffliato_ so he could enjoy his cigarette in peace. It actually took two before he felt calm enough to brave the corridors. 

Their office was blessedly empty when he arrived, and he was immediately grateful for what now seemed like a vast expanse of space. So what if they didn’t have a window; at least he and Terry could sit down at the same time. He began sorting his _IN_ box, expertly wading through the mass of parchments. 

At the very bottom of the tray, he found a tiny box wrapped in plain brown parchment. Eyeing it carefully, he made out the tiny hand-lettering on one side: ‘Engorge me.’ Holding the box gingerly, he closed the door, gently placing the box in the middle of the floor. _“Engorgio,”_ he murmured, instantly ready to throw a _Reducto_ if necessary. 

It wasn’t, and the box merely doubled in size. Picking it up, he unwrapped the parcel assiduously, suddenly mindful of the pranks his brothers used to play with reckless abandon. Bracing himself for the worst, he continued. Once removed, the brown paper revealed a white box with an embossed gold crest with the letter ‘H’ in the centre. Grinning in spite of himself, he pulled off the wax seal, opened the lid and pushed aside the top layer of waxed paper. He actually moaned as the wonderful aroma of the rich, dark chocolate filled his nostrils. 

Unconsciously looking about as if someone might appear out of thin air to take his treasure, Percy selected one of the handmade sweets, eyeing it with reverence before he closed his eyes to take a bite. It was delicious, the combination of the sharp, dark chocolate a perfect counterpoint to the sweetness inside. He’d always been crazy for Margie Muldoon’s Raspberry Jellies, but they were rather pricey and Honeyduke’s only produced them in the spring, which at this point in time, was well over four months ago. But the sweets certainly weren’t that old, even if they’d been held in a stasis charm. Percy chose to ponder the mysteries of the candies’ origins later, or at least after he’d had a few more of the delectable morsels.

He made short work of the small box while he worked, nearly tossing it into the dustbin before he noticed the small note beneath the bottom layer of waxed paper. Unfolding it, his eyes went wide as he read:

_Hope you enjoyed the sweets, as you’re quite fond of them.  
Looking forward to sampling your sweetness once more, soon._

He stared at the tiny parchment, not wanting to believe the implications. The candies had to have come from Harry. But then how did Harry know he fancied the Raspberry Jellies so? He hadn’t had them in years, and they were always out of season when Harry had been at The Burrow. He slumped in his chair, studying the note as if it held the most sought after secret in the universe. The printing held no clue as to who had written it; the font face was clearly Iconic Bold Italic, a common auto-quill font. Nothing remarkable about the parchment, either.

Percy snorted, flinging the note down on his desk. The whole thing was ludicrous. How did he let himself begin to actually believe that Harry was interested in him? The entire affair, from Harry blowing him in the alley to the chocolates seemed contrived somehow, cliché, almost as if…

“Cheers, Perce!” Terry boomed as he blustered into the office. He flung his robes at the coat hook, and missed, per usual. “What’s up?” Terry smiled and sat down, his grin fading.

“Oh, I’m sure I wouldn’t know what’s up, but I’ll wager you do.”

Terry leaned forward. “What are you on about?”

“It’s fine, Terry. I’ve sorted it all out.”

“Sorted _what_ out?”

Percy flung the empty candy box at Terry, who caught it deftly. 

“An empty Honeyduke’s box. So?” Terry asked, a bit of incredulity in his tone.

“I’m not angry, really,” Percy began. “In fact, I’m touched that you’d go to so much trouble. I just don’t know how you found out that Muldoon’s Raspberry Jellies were my favourite.”

Terry made a face as he scratched his temple. “Mate, I have no blooming idea what you’re talking about. Who sent you chocolates?”

“You did.” Terry made to speak, but Percy silenced his friend with a wave of his hand. “It all makes sense now, all the references while we were at The Monk last Friday, about Harry and how he was interested in me. After our conversation you Apparated away, but came back and followed me wearing a glamour. It nearly fooled me, and then your performance in the alley! Sweet Merlin, but you’re good, mate! I had no idea! Then you sent me that note on Sunday, and now, the chocolates. It’s too bloody sweet, and I’m flattered. But I’m sorry Terry, I’m not in love with you.” 

He paused to let his words sink in, and they were having some sort of effect, as Terry looked as though he’d chewed through a mouthful of Bertie Bott’s vomit flavoured jelly beans. “But really, though, pretending to be Harry Potter? You don’t need to do that. Just because I’m not attracted to you in that way doesn’t mean…

Terry jumped up and slammed their door shut with a bang. He leaned against it and took a deep breath. “Percy, I’ll say this once more: I don’t know what you’re talking about. I left you in front of _The Monk_ on Friday and went directly to _The Dragon’s Lair_. I didn’t follow you, glamoured or otherwise, nor did I do something with you in an alley. I sent you an owl on Saturday, inviting you to _The Lair_ , but that’s it. And I didn’t send you chocolates. I didn’t even know you liked Raspberry Jellies until you told me a few minutes ago.”

“But…” Percy began.

“Let me finish,” Terry said tersely. “I’m not sure what little fantasy you’ve cooked up over Harry, but I’ve nothing to do with it. There’s that, and then there’s this: yeah, I had it good for you for a long time. Fell for you, I did. Hard.” He stepped over to Percy’s desk, sitting down on the corner of it. “It took me a bit to realize that you didn’t feel the same way as I did, but I still wanted the friendship. And I _do_ still love you, Perce, really, but as you so clearly point out, not in the way you think.”

Percy stood up, moving around his desk. “Terry, I thought…well, it just didn’t make any sense that Harry Potter would be interested in me. It was too neat and tidy, like a prank. You grow up around blokes like my twin brothers and you come to expect that sort of thing. I didn’t mean to offend, really. I’m just pants at expressing myself. Always put my boot in my mouth, that’s a sure and certain fact.”

Terry sighed, nodding slightly. “Bah, no worries. Used to you by now. And you’re not pants when it comes to self-expression. A bit bludger-like from time to time, but that’s your way. So what’s all this about you and Harry in an alley?” He smiled finally, patting Percy’s shoulder. 

Percy then recounted the events that had transpired after Terry had left him in front of _The Mirthful Monk_ , from the encounter in the alleyway up to the chocolates. 

Terry gave him a playful punch to the arm. “Perce, that’s bloody fantastic, isn’t it? Obviously Harry’s into you! Quit moping about and go for it!”

“It’s not that simple,” Percy said. 

“Oh, there you go again,” Terry groaned. "Making mountains out of dungheaps. Quickest, easiest way is to bluster right up to the bloke and talk to him. Saves a lot of fuss.”

“Too right,” Percy admitted. “But it’s impossible. Too much history. And even in the rarest of circumstances that he might actually want more than a quick shag…more likely to see a Muggle perform a Patronus, I think.”

Terry paused a few moments before speaking again. “You fancy him, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Terry clapped him on the back. “There you go then.”

“But…” Percy began.

“But nothing,” Terry said as he leaned forward. “Quit looking for excuses! You fancy him, he fancies you. Bugger the old baggage, whatever it is. You’re both sharp blokes; you’ll sort it all out, right?”

Percy nodded as Terry stood up and stretched. 

“Jumpin’ skrewts! It’s nearly half-four! Let’s clear these desks and get the hell out of here! I don’t know about you, but I’m more than ready for a Guinness! And a double order of The Badger’s fish and chips, too. Move it, Weasley!”

Terry’s enthusiasm was impossible to ignore, and rather contagious as well. By the time they went their separate ways an hour later, agreeing to meet up at The Belligerent Badger at seven, Percy actually felt a bit better than he had in days. The possibility that the business with Harry was some sort of prank had been so pervasive that it had negatively coloured his perception of events. Taking that off of the table also seemed to have removed a great weight from his shoulders. Somehow, Terry’s assertion that he wasn’t pranking him, and his tacit approval seemed to give Percy a sort of permission to proceed. Harry obviously fancied him on some level; if it only turned out to be for a few quick fucks, well, better that than nothing. 

There was another owl waiting for him when he Apparated into his flat. The bird held out its leg and waited patiently, signifying that it was waiting for a possible reply. Percy opened the envelope with shaky hands, smiling crookedly as he read:

_Sorry I missed you at the office today. I’ve been pants at completing paperwork lately; distracted, I suppose. We do need to get together and talk. Soon. I’ll have your papers in the morning inter-office owl post. If you like, you can owl me here: 39 Shipton Street London SE14 3SY H._ 


Percy scribbled a hasty reply:

_I look forward to that chat, as well as more. If you’re free, I’ll be at The Belligerent Badger on Tallmadge after seven. Stop by if you can; my treat. P._ 


He rolled up the note, quickly tying it to the impatient bird’s leg. The owl then stared at him sullenly, flapping its wings and clicking its beak. Hermes hooted shrilly from his perch, and Percy scrambled for a treat, tossing it to the post owl, who caught it deftly and flapped away out the window. 

He devoured the remainder of the nearly forgotten baba ganoush from the weekend as he threw off his clothes, the prospect of going to the pub more exciting than it had been in months. He stood in his tiny lounge in his boxers, munching away on the last of the falafel and staring at his canvas. For some reason, his thunderheads looked, well, perfect. A few more finishing touches to the roof of The Burrow that was just visible through the trees, and he’d be done. He nodded, smiling widely as he headed for the shower. 

Kicking off his boxers, he cast a whitening charm on his teeth, as well as a shaving charm. As an afterthought, he cast an additional shaver about his cock and balls, shrugging at his mirror, which tutted loudly. 

“Just in case,” he answered confidently.

He ran a hotter than usual shower, lathering himself up with his favourite herbal soap. He allowed his mind to wander, and it headed directly to the alley near The Mirthful Monk, where Harry was waiting for him, and he replayed their initial encounter nearly perfectly, but with a few enhancements. His cock was at attention almost immediately, one hand stroking his length while the other massaged and squeezed his newly shorn sac. The moisturizing soap felt wonderful and slick beneath his fingers, and he stroked himself with increasing speed, turning his back to the spray of water and bracing his shoulder against the tile. He came with Harry’s name on his lips, his gasps and grunts of pleasure echoing through his small bathroom. 

He fussed far too long over what to wear. Suddenly, nothing he had in his wardrobe seemed appropriate. He finally settled on a pair of his oldest, most well worn denims and an old Puddlemere United ringer t-shirt. He didn’t have the athletic physique to fill out the shirt properly, but the denims fit like a second skin, and they did make his arse look rather nice. He found an ancient pair of trainers shoved into a dark corner of his hall closet, and a few cleansing and brightening charms restored them to respectability. 

His bathroom mirror clucked incessantly, commenting that he looked like an overgrown teen-ager. His hair was an absolute disaster, all curls and waves and totally unmanageable. He truly envied Bill, Ron, and George, who weren’t cursed with his scouring pad head of hair and could grow it long without looking ridiculous. 

In a fit of rebelliousness that seemed somehow totally alien, he cast a straightening and lengthening charm on his hair until it touched his shoulders. He’d always refused to try the charm in the past, and now, he couldn’t for the life of him recall why. 

Percy chuckled at his new reflection, which gave him the thumbs up. With his hair this way, he looked a bit like Bill, and a bit like Ron, which he supposed made sense. It would revert to normal by morning, but perhaps he’d start charming his hair everyday. Many folks did. After a while, he’d only have to cast the straightening charm anyway. He conjured a tie, arranging his hair into a loose ponytail. 

He winked at his grinning reflection.

His mirror groaned.

He Apparated behind The Belligerent Badger fifteen minutes early, and chose a table with four stools situated so that he could see both the front and rear entrances to the pub. 

Ewan was on duty this evening, and the server smiled appreciatively at his new hairstyle. “Oy, someone’s on the prowl this evening,” he commented as he took Percy’s drink order.

Percy felt comfortable and at ease, the lively buzz of conversation, the music from the Muggle jukebox, and chatter from the two small video screens more than pleasant. He had ordered a full bottle of Bitter Banshee, sipping at the potent, electric green alcohol with relish. He leaned back, one arm over the back of the chair next to him. 

The Badger was much like The Monk, although much smaller and more like an old-fashioned neighbourhood pub. The food was fabulous, though. The clientele was mixed, with more than a few queer witches and wizards frequenting the establishment. One passing bloke, a short, muscled brunet with earrings and tattoos for miles gave Percy the cruising of all cruises, rubbing a hand over his crotch and jerking his head toward the loo. Percy replied with a polite shake of his head and a smile, and the muscle stud winked and strode away. 

Terry walked through the front door at half seven; his cube mate walked right by him and strode up to the bar. He chatted with Ewan for a moment, and the server pointed to where Percy was sitting. Terry whirled about, his face a mask of confusion. He then shook his head in wonder, a smile covering his face as Percy motioned him over to their table.

“You’re late,” Percy drawled, sipping his Banshee.

“You’re gorgeous,” Terry spluttered, pouring himself a drink. “Great bleedin’ Circe, I didn’t even see you there.” He took a big gulp of the green alcohol, gasping and shaking his head. 

Percy beamed. “What? Do I look different?”

“Tosser!” Terry shot back. “The hair looks great on you like that. Damn, Perce. Damn!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Terry nodded vigorously. “As well you should.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“Cheers!” Terry replied, filling his glass again. “Ready to order?”

“Well, perhaps we should wait a bit, just in case someone else joins us,” Percy said, grinning ear to ear.

Terry sat back in his seat. “Don’t tell me.”

“Okay, I won’t then.”

“You’ve invited Harry.”

“Yes,” Percy replied, licking his lips. “Just a general invitation. Don’t know if he’ll show, though.”

“You owled him then?”

Percy nodded. “Yeah, in response to _his_ owl.”

Terry beamed. “Brilliant! Told you so!” He hefted his glass of Banshee. “To Harry!”

“Salut,” Percy replied, clinking his glass to Terry’s. “We’ll wait until eight. If he hasn’t shown by then, we’ll order, yes?”

“Deal,” Terry responded, laughing. 

They chatted easily, with Percy relating the contents of Harry’s note and then his own response. Harry hadn’t shown by eight, so they ordered and enjoyed the evening, engaging in a of no-magics-allowed round of darts. Terry won, per usual, but Percy enjoyed the challenge anyway. Their meal was excellent as always, and Ewan complimented either Percy’s hair or his clothes every time he passed their table. 

He and Terry were both rather into their cups by ten, when the tellys were turned off and the lights went down. They’d both forgotten about the live disc jockey scheduled for this particular Wednesday. The DJ stroked and stirred his resonant pair of musical pensieves masterfully, creating a constant stream of music.

Terry jokingly asked Percy if he’d like to dance, and Percy shocked his friend by actually agreeing. He couldn’t dance for shite, but then again, neither could anyone else. Percy just bumped and ground to the beat as best he could, biting his lower lip and causing Terry to laugh so hard he nearly lost his supper. 

It was nearly midnight when the pair shambled out the back door, draped over each other and whooping out the Hogwarts school song. Percy did and impression of McGonagall singing the anthem, and Terry laughed so hard he fell right on his arse. Percy felt invigorated, enlivened, and more that a bit pissed. He said his goodbyes to Terry, who was clutching his stomach and laughing so hard he couldn’t speak. Terry waved and Apparated without bothering to stand up.

“Happy landing, mate,” Percy spluttered, Apparating himself home. 

He managed to make it to the medicine cabinet without incident, and several swallows of Madame Ciara’s Draught quickly began to soften his rough edges. 

“You’ll feel like shite in the morning, luv,” his mirror admonished.

“Mayhap I will, mayhap I won’t,” he replied, turning his head to get a better view of his now tousled ponytail. “Yeah, we’ll definitely be charming the hair from now on.”

“Oh dear,” the mirror commented as Percy charmed out the lights. 

He kicked off his trainers, flopping onto his bed while he fumbled with the buttons of his fly. He leaned back, snuggling into the coverlet and pulling his pillows about him. It had been a great night, even if Harry hadn’t shown up. Just the _possibility_ of Harry was suddenly more than enough to make the evening special. Odd that. One little note, a world of difference.

Percy smiled as he fondled himself lazily, charming off the lamps. He pushed his denims down, bending his knees and wriggling about until his denims joined his trainers on the floor. He ran his fingers along the ridge of his erection, the feel of the silky fabric of his under shorts incredibly stimulating. He stroked himself a few more times before plunging his hand under the waistband of the briefs and circling his fingers about his cock. _“Accio lube,“_ he whimpered, the tube of Muggle lubricant sailing into his other hand. He flicked the cap off, shoving the boxer briefs down over his hips. He drizzled the lube directly onto his cock, gasping at the coolness of it on his heated skin. He then spread the slippery stuff all over his length, squeezing his cock firmly as he stroked it faster and faster. He pulled on himself with each upstroke, gritting his teeth as he felt the wonderful heat building within his balls. A few more strokes and the heat exploded, his orgasm rising up and out as his ejaculate shot through his fingers and onto his stomach. 

“Gods,” he groaned, swirling the spunk about his belly with his fingers. His body relaxed instantly, sleep quickly overcoming him as his passion cooled. He barely finished murmuring a cleansing charm before he drifted off to sleep, his dreams filled with visions of Harry...

 

~~~~~~~~

 

Percy awoke the next morning to Hermes perched on his bed frame, hooting away importantly. His brain was just the slightest bit sluggish, the hangover draught having done an admirable job, but still no remedy for the lack of sleep. He yawned and rolled over, laying still for barely a moment before his eyes flew open and he sat up with a gasp.

“Time…time…the time!” he panted, blinking furiously at the morning light pouring through his partially closed blinds. 

Hermes flapped his wings and glowered at him, clicking his beak twice. 

_“Tempus!”_ he rasped, untangling himself from the quilts and jumping from the bed. He growled, walking through the floating numbers that had just informed him he was already twenty minutes late for work. He flung off his wrinkled shirt and boxer briefs and showered in record time, casting shaving and teeth cleansing charms in quick succession. He wiped at the fogged mirror, strangely surprised to see that his hair had returned to its normal state.

“If you had any sense you’d just leave it the way it is,” the mirror huffed imperiously. “Looks fine as is, but you won’t listen to me, oh, no.”

Percy glared at his reflection, which gestured impatiently to their soaking wet mop of curly hair. “Never did have any sense,” he muttered, staring at the mirror. Hermes flew into the loo, landing on the toilet seat and chittering away loudly.

“Right, yes, I’m late,” he replied absently, pausing another moment before murmuring the appropriate charms. The mirror mumbled something as he tied up his ponytail. “What was that?”

“Oh, nothing,” the mirror replied. “Don’t mind me; you never do.”

Percy growled. “Keep it up, and you’ll be right back where I found you.”

“Worse luck,” the mirror replied.

Sighing, Percy bustled into the kitchen and flung open the door to the cold box, silently summoning his work clothes. They flew into the room and hovered patiently while he guzzled down some pumpkin juice right from the jar. He then yanked on his black denims and white oxford shirt, struggling to tuck, zip and button all at once. His tie landed in his hand, and he knotted it as he strode across his sitting room, frantically looking for his shoes, which were nowhere to be seen.

“Oh, for Merlin… _Accio_ shoes!” he barked, sighing as all four pairs of shoes that he owned arrowed into his sitting room. He could hear the mirror sniggering in the loo as he laced his work shoes. He then jumped up to stand before his fireplace, grabbing a handful of floo powder and calling out his destination. 

A moment later he stepped out of one of the many hearths in the Ministry’s atrium, brushing off his robes and quickly moving across the wide, barren expanse of polished marble floor toward the bank of lifts. The security guard on duty peered over the top of his copy of The Quibbler for the briefest of moments before leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on his small desk. Percy rolled his eyes as a tinkly ding sounded and the ‘down’ arrow glowed green as a lift arrived. The gate rattled aside, and he stepped into the lift. 

“Floor please?” the lift asked crisply.

“Ground floor,” Percy replied through clenched teeth. 

“Thank you,” the lift responded.

“Up yours,” he muttered.

Percy found Terry at his desk, head down on a stack of parchments and a veritable flock of owls planted on nearly every horizontal surface of their office; a small screech owl was actually perched on Terry’s right shoulder, preening itself. He slowly walked through the doorway, instantly meeting with a flurry of flapping wings and soft hoots. 

“What in bloody hell,” he began, surveying what looked for all the world like a bizarre miniature owlery.

Terry didn’t bother to lift his head. He merely raised his right arm and pointed to Percy’s desk, which was strangely devoid of owls.

Percy unbuttoned his robes, shrugging out of them and draping them over the back of his chair. He ran his fingers over the large stack of parchments, banded with black ribbon. It appeared to be the entire backlog of Harry’s paperwork, apparently signed and ready for filing. He smiled just as a tawny hopped onto the mound of papers and held out its leg. There was another round of fluttering as a handful of other birds moved to his desk, all of them apparently eager to deliver their messages.

“They’re all for you,” Terry mumbled. “Been coming every ten minutes since half-eight.”

Percy glanced about their office. “But who…”

“Who do you _think?_ ” Terry replied, lifting his head slightly. He jerked his head to the ribbon-wrapped stack of parchments. “He dropped those off first thing this morning. A bit distraught that you weren’t here.” He groaned, putting his head back down onto his arms. “ _They_ started arriving shortly thereafter.”

“Harry was here? This morning?” The first time he’d ever been late in his entire Ministry career, and it had to be this morning! Percy quickly untied the tiny scroll from the increasingly impatient tawny’s leg and unrolled it. 

“Could you read a bit more quietly, please?” Terry moaned as his screech owl clicked its beak menacingly. After a rather long pause, he lifted his head slightly. “Well? What’s it say?”

Percy rolled up the scroll, a crooked smile forming on his lips. He arched an eyebrow and sat down, putting both hands behind his head and leaning back into his chair. “Oh, nothing much, really. Just that he’s sorry to have missed us last night, and how he’d like to get together tonight.”

Terry made an admirable attempt to sit up, but failed, wincing loudly. “Really?”

Percy nodded, grinning widely and swiveling about in his chair. “Yeah. Really. Wants me owl him if I’m available.” He chuckled, reaching for a scrap of parchment and a quill. 

Terry rolled his eyes and dropped his head once more. “I think I like morose Percy better.” 

Percy scratched out a hasty note:

_Harry, Apologies for missing you at my office this morning. A bit too much frivolity last night. Of course I’m available this evening. I’ll be in the office for the rest of the day. Pop on down if you’d like, or meet me in the commissary at half eleven for lunch. Else, if your schedule doesn’t permit, owl me. Looking forward to this evening. P._ 


Percy rolled up the note and tied it to the tawny’s leg. The bird hooted softly and flapped its wings. Percy opened his top left drawer, extracting a tin of Eeylop’s Everyday Owl Treats. He flipped the tawny a morsel and it flapped away into the corridor. He tossed a handful of treats to the floor, and in a great whipping of wings and clicking beaks, the horde of remaining owls devoured them and went on their way. Percy sat down and untied the black ribbon, beginning to sort through Harry’s corrected papers. 

Terry groaned, shifting in his squeaky chair. 

“Out of Madame Ciara’s again?” Percy observed with a hint of amusement. 

“Uh-huh,” Terry replied. 

Percy fished about in his still-open drawer and tossed a packet of the hangover draught to his partner. 

Terry grabbed the packet and headed into the corridor. “Thanks, Perce. Be back in a few ticks.” 

Percy sniggered, continuing his document shuffle.

The rest of the morning progressed rather smoothly. Strangely invigorated, Percy flew through his work, clearing off his desk and IN box well before lunch. Terry had revived only slightly, shuffling and groaning about the office like a stunned Inferi. He declined Percy’s invitation to journey to the commissary for lunch, which wasn’t at all disappointing. Percy’d hoped to go alone anyway, just on the off chance that Harry might be there. He hadn’t received a response from Harry yet, but the day was still young, and Harry would no doubt have work of his own to accomplish, if he was even in the building at all. 

Instead of taking the lift to Level One, he took the stairs, oddly feeling in the mood for a light workout. As he took the steps two at a time, that little voice in the back of his head decided to speak up and start prattling on about how the business with Harry could _still_ be a hoax, and as he hadn’t really seen Harry since the night in the alley, it was quite ridiculous to get his hopes up so. And Terry was a bit too excited for him, especially when considering his recent proclamations of long-held affections. But Terry wasn’t exactly the straightest wand in the box, and if it was indeed a set-up of some kind, it didn’t really seem possible that his cube mate could have dreamt up and executed the whole thing. Or could he?

Percy stopped on the landing, his hand absently turning the knob of the door that led out to the atrium. And it was true that not one of Harry’s notes had been in his handwriting, all of them being auto-quilled. But then again…

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, yanking open the door and striding into the atrium, immediately colliding with a slight, blonde-haired witch. They bounced off of one other, both falling to the floor and the gasping witch’s file folders splaying across the marble.

“Shite! So sorry,” Percy yelped, immediately getting to his knees and gathering up the folders. 

The witch sat up, rubbing her forehead. “That’s fine, no worries, happens all the time,” she said with a crooked smile.

Percy stood up, having collected the errant folders. He helped the witch to her feet and watched as she tugged at her skirt and straightened her blouse and tie. That’s when he noticed the carrot earrings. “Luna? Luna Lovegood?” he said, handing the files over.

Luna stared for a moment, obviously trying to figure out who he was. Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh, forgive me,” she replied. “I know you’re a Weasley, I just can’t recall which one.” She furrowed her brow and began biting her lip. “Not Ron, not one of the triplets, not the dragon one, or the sort of werewolf. Hmmm.” 

Percy rolled his eyes, suddenly very sorry he hadn’t taken the lift. “Well, I’m…”

“No! No, no, no!” Luna blurted out. “I’ve got it, right on the tip of my tongue, it is!” She stared up at the ceiling, one of her shoes tapping at the floor rhythmically. 

Percy cleared his throat. “Really, I’m late for an appointment, so if you don’t mind…”

Luna cocked her head to one side and rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, he won’t be there, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Percy gaped, completely at a loss.

Luna snapped her fingers, smiling widely. “Percival Ignatius! Yes, that’s who you are!” Her smile faded as she stared at his head. “What have you done to your hair?”

Percy arched an eyebrow, his hand unconsciously smoothing his pulled back locks. “Um, well…”

Luna shook her head and sighed. “He’ll prefer your natural style, I’m afraid. Stick with Puddlemere, Monkshood will sort it out, and don‘t forget to bone up on those sun block charms.” She reached out and grasped his arm. “And it’s not a hoax. Don’t be such a wand in the mud!” She took a deep breath. “Well, can’t stand about jabbering away all day, now can we? And I’m late for a meeting!”

Percy blinked, his mouth agape. 

Luna chuckled. “Oh for Merlin’s sake! You are wound up, aren’t you?” She rooted about in the pocket of her robes and extracted a well worn card. “Here.” She pressed it into his hand. “Now go! Off with you!” She waved her fingers and turned to leave. 

Percy watched as she walked away, completely oblivious to the milling crowd that filled the atrium. He glanced down at the card, his eyes going wide:

_**Luna Z. Lovegood**  
Divinator, Second Class_

_**Department of Muggle Relations**  
Obfuscation Division_

_Suite 714, Ministry of Magic_

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shoving the card into his pocket. The universe truly had a perverse sense of humour to make Luna Lovegood an Unspeakable. And then to give her an office on the seventh floor, no less. He snorted, threading his way through the usual lunchtime throng of Ministry employees and visitors.

He entered the busy commissary, scanning the space, which today was transfigured to resemble an outdoor eatery along the banks of the Grand Canal in Venice. Luna’s words rang in his head: _He won’t be there. He won’t be there._ After two circuits of the eatery, he was satisfied that indeed Harry wasn’t there. He selected a table which allowed him to see most of the commissary and settled in, flagging down a house elf and ordering lunch. 

He managed to relax somewhat and enjoy the conjured scenery, although he felt the designers had gone a bit overboard with all the pigeons. As he sipped his spiced tea, his mind kept going back to Luna’s non sequiturs. She was a Divinator, after all, but she appeared to be even more muddled than old Trelawney had been. Stick with Puddlemere? Sun blocking charms? Monkshood? Typical ethereal nonsense. Give him something that he could get his hands on, like Arithmancy or Runes, and not the sodding ‘great beyond’ mumbo jumbo. Still, Harry hadn’t been at the commissary, but what did that prove, really?

He returned to his office to find Terry slightly more animated if not fully ambulatory. Percy’s _IN_ box was still empty, so he busied himself with assisting Terry in wading through the mass of tardy paperwork that had accumulated on his cube mate’s desk over the last week. That project took most of the rest of the afternoon, and Percy then focused on organizing his lap drawer. By half-three, both he and Terry were alternately staring at the clock and each other. 

More out of boredom than anything else, Percy replayed his encounter with Luna in the atrium. Terry nodded but said nothing, and Percy couldn’t be sure if it was because Terry was still hung over or truly had no thoughts on the subject. Finally, just before four, Percy blew out a deep breath and stood up.

“Where are you off to?” Terry asked blearily, momentarily tearing himself away from the intricate construct of quills, paper clips and assorted office supplies that hovered over his blotter.

“Need to stretch and have a fag,” he replied, nodding to Terry and heading for the loo. 

Of course he decided that the loo on Level Four was the most conducive for his long overdue afternoon cigarette. And since he was up there anyway…

Percy made short work of his smoke, flipping the still burning stub into a protesting toilet bowl. He then strode out of the restroom and down the corridor, rapping smartly on the door to suite 413 before slowly pushing it open. This time, however, no one was in the tiny cubbyhole, and Percy sighed, both hands on his hips. Towler’s desk was even more cluttered than before, the pile of parchments towering just over Percy’s head. 

Harry’s desk was a model of neatness in contrast, with a clear blotter and parchments and files neatly stacked in his _IN_ box. Percy leaned down to get a better glimpse of the lone picture on Harry’s desk. A laughing young man in spectacles picked up and twirled a young woman, pulling her tightly in for an embrace before repeating the movements over and over. It was autumn in the photo, and falling leaves swirled lazily about the couple, as they smiled and laughed in an endless loop. His parents, obviously. Long gone, but still held closely. 

Percy paused a moment longer and turned to leave when something caught his eye. The top right-hand drawer of Harry’s desk was ajar, and he could see what looked like more photos inside. His curiosity got the better of him, so he slowly closed the office door. He pulled the drawer fully open, carefully picking up the stack of photographs. 

He leafed through them, some Muggle, some wizard, all differing ages and conditions. Some were smooth and nearly new, while others were creased or otherwise well-worn. There was a pair of shots with a very young Harry, one with a bedraggled old woman standing before a modest Muggle house; its counterpart showed Harry in front of the same house, standing next to Mundungus Fletcher. Percy nodded, recalling that Harry had spent a fair amount of time with a squib that had lived in the same neighbourhood as the Dursleys. Figg, her name was. Both she and Fletcher were both dead, casualties of the War. Why would Harry want photos of them?

The rest of the pictures were of his family, taken at the Burrow, again from various time frames. Most were general shots of his siblings engaged in Quidditch, Confounding Croquet or the like, at the dinner table, or fooling about at the pond. Harry was in none of them. He smiled at one photo of his Mum and Dad, arm in arm and smiling back warmly. Harry had a set of photos from his Hogwarts years: he posed in various shots with Hagrid, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and Lupin. There were a pair of photos of Harry with Ron and Granger, one from first or second year, and one just after the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament. Then there were a trio of shots of Ron asleep: one in his bed at the Burrow, one in his four-poster at Hogwarts, and one under the old oak near their pond. Percy supposed that was only natural; Harry’d fallen for Ron from almost the first instant they met. The next picture in the stack was of Harry and Ron engaged in a game of Wizard’s Chess in their sitting room, obviously during one of the Christmas Hols. 

He felt the first pang of guilt at his intrusion into Harry’s privacy, but he couldn’t tear himself away. Percy was fascinated that Harry would keep such photos in his desk; he hadn’t that many himself, didn’t display any, nor had he looked at them in years. He continued shuffling through the stack, stopping on a shot of himself with the twins. It was very old, taken when Percy was no more than eight or nine, with Fred and George barely seven, if that. Picture Percy threw his head back and laughed heartily as the young twins tickled him with gusto. Now where on earth had he gotten that one? He drew a deep breath, quickly moving on. More photos of himself with various combinations of his family. 

Then, Percy held his breath. Harry had a photo of him asleep, open book on his chest, beneath the oak tree behind The Burrow. And another on the squishy sofa in the parlour. And another. And one as Percy hunched over a desk, scribbling away at some parchment. One as he steadied a very young Ron on a starter broomstick. The final photo in Harry’s cache showed him reclined in an armchair at The Burrow, one hand cradling some Muggle novel while the index finger of his other hand rested on his temple. It was taken the summer after his graduation from Hogwarts, but he didn’t recall exactly when or who had snapped it. In the photo, he peered over the book, smiling and mouthing for the photographer to go away, over and over again. 

A door slammed in the hallway, startling Percy so that he dropped the stack of photographs. They caught the edge of the desk, flipping end over end and scattering on the floor.

“Fuck,” he hissed, dropping to his knees and scooping up the slippery prints. Suddenly, he could hear every footstep, every muffled word emanating from the hallway. He struggled to straighten out the stack of photos, standing up and placing them back into the drawer. He straightened his tie, taking a deep breath and attempting to compose himself. 

He counted to three, yanking open the door and closing it behind him firmly. He strode down the corridor, nodding curtly at passersby as he pushed open the door to the stairwell. By the time he reached the hallway outside his office at quarter to five, the images from Harry’s photos had blurred into a near continuous slide show. Why did Harry have them? What did they mean, exactly? His ruminations were interrupted as stepped through the doorway to a frenzied flapping of wings.

Terry was slumped in his chair, his eyes half-closed, the dark smudges beneath them plainly evident. “More owl post for Mr. Popular.” He waved a hand at the huge horned owl perched on the back of Percy’s chair. 

The owl held out its leg. Percy untied the scroll and the bird hooted once and flew away. 

Terry snorted. “Sweet Merlin, I’ve never seen such foreplay for a bloody shag in my entire life. What‘s he say now?”

Percy didn’t reply. 

“Well?” Terry asked, sitting up. 

“It’s not from him,” Percy answered. “It’s from Luna.”

“Luna? The witch you knocked over earlier today?”

Percy nodded.

Terry sighed. “This just keeps getting stranger and stranger. What does she have to say?”

“Nothing, really,” Percy replied brightly. “Just prattling on about how nice it was to run into each other. That sort of thing.” He flashed a smile, which he hope looked convincing. It did, apparently.

Terry nodded and glanced at the clock. “I’m going to dash early. Don’t think I’m up for the gym tonight. You’ll be fine, yeah?”

Percy nodded. “Right, no worries. I’d like to keep things open, you know.”

Terry stood up and stretched. He shrugged into his robes, stepping over to squeeze Percy’s shoulder. “Don’t wait around too long, okay? I’ll be home all night if you need anything.”

Percy whirled about in his chair, letting the parchment drop to his lap. “Sure. Thanks.” He nodded as Terry gave him a small wave and disappeared into the corridor. He looked at Luna’s note again, shaking his head as he re-read it:

 

_Percival,_

_So serendipitous that you ran into me today. You really should_  
lower your guard more often. And you needn’t have bothered,  
he’d have shown them to you anyway. Just let him in. Two sides of  
the same coin. Synchronicities. Good foundations are important.  
Let it go. 

_Luna_

 

Stuffing the scrap of parchment into his pocket, Percy stood up and glanced about the office once before charming out the lamps and closing the office door behind him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Instead of using the Floo, Percy decided to walk to his flat. It was a pleasant enough early October evening, and he wanted to make a quick stop at the tiny Muggle shop that was only slightly out of his way. Shrinking his robes and carefully placing them in the front pocket of his denims, he stepped through the wards and into the narrow alley that ran alongside The Ministry’s empty Muggle storefront. 

He moved from the alley and threaded his way through the lively throng of Muggles. The press of people filling the sidewalks thinned out considerably as he walked along, the unusually warm, gusty breezes picking up his tie and flapping it about. He made several turns down increasingly narrower side streets, making an impulsive detour into a liquor shop. He emerged a few moments later, a bottle of Oban wrapped in a plain brown bag and tucked under his arm. It’d been quite some time since he’d treated himself to the rare scotch, and he dared hope that he’d have the opportunity to share it with a certain someone that very evening.

Several minutes later he was breezing through the narrow aisles of Cooper‘s, filling his basket with various and sundry items that he knew he was out of, and more than a few indulgences that he rarely allowed himself. He frequented the shop sufficiently enough that the owner, Taqi, knew him by name. They chatted amiably about football and the weather while Percy handed over the hastily conjured Muggle currency, Taqi’s two young children underfoot and shrieking with laughter as they circled about the counter before disappearing down an aisleway.

Another few blocks and Percy was climbing the steep steps of his apartment block, pretending to fumble for non-existent keys as he murmured the charm to unlock the double front doors. Once inside the tiled foyer, and ensuring that no one else was about, he Apparated into his flat, where he as immediately accosted by an unusually excited Hermes.

“Hell’s Harpies!” Percy yelped, nearly dropping the Oban along with the rest of his purchases. “Bloody needy this evening, aren’t we?” He blustered past his persistent owl, quickly setting his bags down on the counter that separated the small kitchen from the combination dining area and sitting room. Hermes alighted on the edge of the counter, clicking his beak and hooting importantly.

Percy opened the cold box, grabbing the nearly empty container of Fizzberg’s Fully Ferret Owl Bites and tossing Hermes three of the meaty morsels, one after the other. Shaking his head, he was about to tend to his purchases when Hermes hooted shrilly and flapped over to the nearest window. An instant later, Percy noted the large eagle owl on the other side of the glass, a small parchment envelope held carefully in its beak.

He threw the catch and flung the window open, expecting the post bird to fly inside. It didn’t, merely cocking its head and staring back at him with large, dark eyes. Percy took the proffered envelope, and the owl immediately turned and flapped away. Closing the window, he ran his finger over his name, written across the front of the envelope in a slightly familiar scrawl. 

He’d barely torn open the envelope and unfolded the message when his hearth glowed green.

“Well, I see my owl’s just been here.” Harry’s head bobbed lazily in the flames, a sheepish grin on his face. “Mind if I come in?”

Percy swallowed, unable to stop what he knew to be the most ridiculous smile of all time from plastering itself on his features. “Yes, of course, by all means,” he replied, his voice annoyingly hoarse. He was also suddenly very warm, a flush rising from his gut and spreading up his neck and cheeks. He willed himself to remain calm, but his body apparently had other designs. 

Harry’s head faded away, and a moment later he stepped from the hearth, smiling and brushing some remaining floo powder from his black t-shirt. He then placed both hands on his hips and made to take in Percy’s flat. “Very nice. Cosy.” He smiled again, turning and walking over to examine Percy’s library, which covered an entire wall of the flat, shelves spanning from floor to ceiling. Harry whistled appreciatively, running a finger along one of the shelves. 

Percy stared, note still in hand, his mind clearly having problems registering that Harry was, indeed, standing there in his flat, idly perusing his collection of books. He watched as Harry traced the spines of some of the volumes, finally selecting one and pulling it from the shelf. He opened it and flipped through the pages. 

Percy took a few steps closer, his eyes drawn to Harry’s slim but nicely proportioned form. For a long time, especially when the War was in full swing, Harry’d kept his hair very closely shorn, almost shaved. But now it was once again collar-length, shaggy and predictably wild. Percy had to admit the he preferred it long. And while Harry still wore his wire-rimmed spectacles, Percy couldn’t tell at this distance whether the rumours that Harry’d removed his lightning bolt scar were true or not. 

He could make out what looked like a portion of a tattoo peeking out from the right sleeve of Harry’s t-shirt, which stretched nicely over his chest and shoulders, tucking into the rather tight, black denims that hugged his narrow arse perfectly. He was wearing some very chunky black boots with rather thick heels. Harry turned sideways, and Percy was shocked to find that he very nearly gasped aloud. 

_Bloody hell!_ He was mooning about like some sodding first-year! 

Harry flipped the book shut and slid it back into place on the shelf. He smiled again, averting his gaze and taking a few steps closer to Percy. His eyes landed on Percy’s vintage Puddlemere United poster that took up a vary large expanse of wall by the door. “They’re not doing well this year, are they?” He looked back to Percy, his eyes ablaze.

“No,” Percy began, “I mean, I don’t know. Haven’t really been following them lately.” He chuckled nervously, his fingers fiddling with the still unread note. “Overloaded at the office. Always something to chase after.” 

Harry nodded. “Well, you’re not missing much. I haven’t been to a match in ages myself.” He smiled again, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his low-slung denims. “And I know what you mean about work. War’s long over, but still more than a few arseholes out there to be rounded up.”

Percy couldn’t help but notice how Harry’s fingertips grazed the slight but noticeable bulge in the front of his denims. “Right, right,” he replied, taking a deep breath and locking gazes with Harry, who grinned crookedly. 

“Well, I’ll be…” Harry moved to the corner next to the Puddlemere poster, eyeing Percy’s ancient broomstick with undisguised awe. “Bloody hell, I can’t believe you’ve kept this.” He hefted the broom, balancing it perfectly on one finger. “I can remember the day you got this.” He deftly pulled his finger away, and the broomstick obediently hovered just below his hand. “Comet Mark III’s are extremely rare these days.” He smiled widely, moving his hand in small arcs and circles, the Comet mimicking his moves exactly.

Percy chuckled aloud at Harry’s delight. “I’d no idea the poor old thing was so sought after. Keep anything long enough, and it’ll become valuable, I suppose.” He took a step closer, finding Harry’s smile completely infectious. “Pretty rough shape, I’m afraid.”

Harry easily snatched the broomstick out of the air and carefully returned it to its spot in the corner. “Nah, a bit of spit and polish, and she’d be good as new.” He gazed at Percy, his eyes once again scanning him from head to toe and back again. “You know we’re definitely going flying together, and soon, right?” He jerked his head to the Comet. “You’ve a maintenance kit?” 

Percy made a face and shook his head. 

“No worries,” Harry replied. “We’ll use mine.”

“Great,” Percy answered, feeling the blush rise from his collar. Again. He watched as Harry’s eyes fell on his covered easel. _Oh, bloody boomslang bollocks!_

“Here now, what’s this?” Harry pointed to the easel. “You paint? I had no idea.” 

Percy’s stomach leapt into his throat. “Well, no, I mean, I do paint,” he stammered, trying in vain to intercept Harry before he could pull the white cotton cover from his easel. “But I’m not very good. Oh, bother,” he sighed as Harry studied his nearly completed painting.

Harry was silent for a very long while as he leaned in and gazed at the picture. He finally stood back, his expression bordering on amazement. “This is bloody beautiful, Percy, truly.”

Percy made a rude noise. “You don’t have to say…”

Harry held up a hand. “No, I don’t, but I will anyway.” He gestured to the painting. “I’m no art critic, that’s a fact, but this is lovely. That’s The Burrow, totally, completely. You’ve captured it perfectly. Late August, right?”

Percy nodded, unable to not notice the easy way the ends of Harry’s mouth so easily curved into a smile, the tiny dimples, the faintest dusting of whiskers on his chin and jaw line. He found himself moving next to Harry, gesturing to the still unfinished bank of grey clouds. “I’ve been working on the thunderheads here, and here. Can’t seem to get them just right.”

Harry furrowed his brow. “They look perfect to me.“ He nodded slightly. “I can almost hear the thunder, and your mum calling us in for tea after a long afternoon at the pond.” He stared at the picture a moment longer before flashing Percy a crooked smile. “Brilliant, Percy.” He laid his hand on Percy’s right forearm. “An artist as well. Who knew?”

Percy actually shivered at Harry’s touch, and he felt the first stirrings of an impending erection. Silently cursing himself, he moved as casually as he could toward the kitchen, where he hoped the counter would sufficiently hide any unwanted developments. 

Harry followed, trailing a hand across Percy’s modified Muggle television as he approached the kitchen, his expression turning serious. “But I see that you’ve only just gotten in.” He nodded to the bags of groceries on the counter and the note still clutched in Percy’s hand. “Rather irrelevant now, that is.”

Percy held up the note. “Yes, I’d just walked in the door when the post owl arrived. I hadn‘t had a chance to read it before your firecall.” 

Harry waved a hand. “No worries. Just me apologizing for missing you for lunch today, and alerting you that I’d be fire calling sometime before six.” 

“Ah, yes, I see,” Percy replied, wincing at how ridiculous he knew he sounded. 

Harry chuckled and walked over to stand opposite Percy on the other side of the countertop. “Well, since you haven’t even had a chance to change out of your work clothes, I suppose I should take my leave and come back in an hour or so.”

Percy very nearly agreed to allow Harry to go, but at the last second stopped himself. “No, you needn’t leave. Won’t take me but a moment to change.”

Harry remained silent for a long minute, as if pondering some vast secret. He then grinned slightly and nodded. “If you’re sure,” he said almost playfully.

“Quite,” Percy replied, returning Harry’s smile. “Be right back. Make yourself comfortable.” He rubbed the back of his neck and backed away toward his bedroom, his mind a maddening swirl. He was behaving like a total, complete git. What was wrong with him? Just because the object of his obsessions was standing in his flat, looking more gorgeous than anyone had rights to, was no reason to go completely off the trolley. 

Was it? 

He closed his bedroom door, quickly untying his tie and pulling his shirt over his head. As he riffled through his closet, he cast rather through cleansing charms on himself, as well as a shaver. “What to wear, what to wear,” he murmured, becoming the slightest bit frantic as he realized that ninety-nine percent of his wardrobe consisted of white oxford shirts and pleated trousers. “Balls!” he huffed, turning around and glancing about his room in near desperation. He then spied his tossed off Puddlemere ringer and the denims he’d worn the previous night at _The Belligerent Badger_ , both balled up on the carpet. 

What had Luna said? _Stick with Puddlemere?_ Smiling, Percy extracted his wand and kicked off his trousers, casting cleaning and freshening charms on the t-shirt and denims. He threw them on, found his trainers, and a few moments later, stood in front of the full length mirror in the corner. “Oh, bloody hell,” he murmured, tugging at the collar of the ringer. “Nothing for it,” he sighed, taking a deep breath and opening his bedroom door. He pasted on what he hoped was his best smile and strode out into his sitting room. 

Harry was draped across one end of his sofa, boots up on the coffee table, perusing the empty case for _Aurors In Love_. He turned as the floorboards squeaked, throwing an arm over the back of the sofa and grinning widely. 

_Sweet Merlin, I could get used to seeing that smile_ , Percy thought as Harry waggled the WVD case. _Drown in it, more like_. 

Harry licked his lips. “Have you seen the sequel? _More Aurors In Love_?”

Percy shook his head. 

Harry chuckled, placing the case on the coffee table and standing up. “If you like the first one, then you’ll love the new one. Especially the interactive features.” He moved around the sofa, crossing over to Percy. 

“Sounds very stimulating,” Percy managed to reply. Harry was right in front of him now, taking him in from head to toe. Percy felt as if he were being devoured somehow, but in the most wonderful way possible. 

Harry reached out and traced the faded felt lettering of Percy’s Puddlemere ringer. “Nice shirt,” he said, looking up and smiling again. “I‘ve always been fond of their old logo.” He tilted his head slightly. “And this.” Harry’s fingers ghosted across the side of his head. “Very cool what you‘ve done with your hair. Love the ponytail.” 

Percy felt himself blush, instantly embarrassed. “I felt it was time for a change.” 

Harry was staring up a him, his eyes deep, probing, greener than Percy’d ever recalled. He could smell Harry’s cologne, something musky with the slightest hint of sandalwood. And just beneath the tangle of black fringe, he could make out the telltale puckery-red of Harry’s scar. 

_Still there._

He suddenly felt giddy, light-headed, as if he’d just executed a low-altitude Wronski Feint or Apparated in a thunderstorm. He felt himself shift closer to Harry, taking in a deep breath as his hand moved up, seemingly of its own volition, to brush away a portion of Harry’s fringe and gently trace the lightning bolt shape. 

Harry’s eyes closed partway and he leaned his forehead into Percy’s fingers, one of Harry’s hands grazing Percy’s hip.

Percy’s gaze moved down to Harry’s right bicep and the portion of tattoo peeking out from beneath Harry’s shirtsleeve. He ran his fingers along the smooth, firm skin of Harry’s upper arm, pushing the black cotton up to reveal the entire design. Harry reached up, his fingers brushing Percy’s as he held his shirtsleeve out of the way. 

Percy traced the intricate, black inking. The design resembled a standard Muggle crucifix, but the head of it was oval shaped. He knew he’d seen the design before but couldn’t recall the name at the moment. He caressed the tattoo, drawing breath through slightly parted lips as the muscle of Harry’s upper arm rippled beneath impossibly smooth skin.

“It’s an ankh,” Harry said. “Egyptian cross.”

“Oh, yes,” Percy murmured. “That’s how I recognize it. Bill had a pendant very similar to this.”

Harry nodded while Percy continued to study his tattoo. “Well, that’s the inspiration, really. That, and having spent a few weeks with him while on curse-breaking duty.”

“Means life,” Percy commented, looking up into Harry’s eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Harry murmured. “Life, immortality, the union of male and female, the universe, the merging of heaven and earth. Some ancients believed the ankh could unlock the gates of death, resurrecting those that had passed. The symbol was also used in many ancient wizarding rituals to attempt to revive the dead. Quite a powerful little cross actually.” 

Percy swallowed, withdrawing his hand as he felt the familiar pressure in his groin. A few more minutes of this, and he’d be fully hard. He pulled away, chuckling nervously and moving into his kitchen. 

“You must excuse me,” he offered, scanning his now barren countertop. “I’ve been a terrible host, not even offering you something to drink.” 

Harry stepped right up behind him, nodding to the counter. “Hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of putting away your groceries while you changed. I think I’ve gotten everything in the right place.” He chuckled, running his fingers along the back of Percy’s right arm. “If not, let me know and I’ll submit myself for the appropriate punishment.” 

Percy nodded, reaching for the now un-wrapped bottle of Oban. “Oh, well, thank you. Most kind, really.” He was quite a stickler for having a place for everything and everything in its place. And Harry would know that, from all the time spent at the Burrow. He retrieved two juice glasses from his cupboard, placing them next to the bottle of scotch. “Don’t have proper glasses,” he explained, grabbing the neck of the bottle.

Harry’s hand covered his. “Allow me?” 

Percy withdrew his hand and Harry proceeded to uncork the bottle, pouring a generous amount of the potent scotch for each of them. He picked up a glass, offering it to Percy with yet another blazing smile. 

Percy took his glass, his fingers touching Harry’s for the briefest of moments. “Thanks,” he murmured, suddenly feeling rather uncomfortable.

“My pleasure,” Harry replied, clinking his glass to Percy’s. “Cheers.” He took a large swallow of Oban, not even batting an eye as the alcohol went down. He nodded toward Percy’s glass. “Go on.”

Percy paused for a long moment before placing the glass of Oban on the counter. 

“You’ve some questions,” Harry said, setting his glass next to Percy’s. “I thought you might.”

“Right, yes, I do,” Percy replied, folding his arms. “This is all so sudden, out of the blue. One minute you walk into the pub, and the next we’re in an alley, my trousers about my ankles and…” He felt his patented Weasley temper flare within, threatening to rise up and out. “I don’t understand where all of this is coming from. It all seems like some sort of…”

“Prank?” Harry finished for him.

“Quite, exactly,” Percy agreed, nodding.

“That’s what Terry said,” Harry responded thoughtfully.

“When did you…”

Harry put up a hand. “When I dropped off my overdue paperwork this morning, and you weren’t there.”

Percy took a deep breath, pressing his lips into a thin line. He could tell Harry had noted the expression.

“He really is a good bloke,” Harry said, taking a step toward Percy, “and a good mate to you. He mentioned how apprehensive you’d been, doubting my intentions, how you actually thought that he had fabricated the entire thing.” He shook his head. “Nothing could be further from the truth, honestly.”

Percy swallowed, averting his gaze to stare at his Muggle coffee machine. “I see. I suppose I’ll have to take you at your word about that.”

Harry snorted. “Well, I hope that you believe me. No real point in continuing if you don‘t.” When Percy didn’t respond, he threw up his hands. “I knew from the start that it’d be difficult to demonstrate my sincerity.”

“You could have simply approached me and asked,” Percy shot back, moving toward Harry. “I don’t take anything for granted, you know.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Right, right, you have trust issues,” he said sardonically. ‘Merlin forbid you keep an open mind.”

Percy laughed. “I’d submit that if I didn’t have an open mind, you wouldn’t be standing in my flat right now. It’s just that…”

Harry closed his eyes and held up his hand again. “Enough, okay?” When he opened them again, he stared at the floor. “This isn‘t how I wanted this to go. Sorry.” He whirled about and strode for the fireplace. When he reached the hearth, he paused, slowly looking back at Percy with an odd expression that lay somewhere between anger and disappointment. 

Percy held his breath, the stubborn, prideful portion of his mind opting to allow Harry to leave, while the usually subdued emotional side was literally screaming for him to keep Harry there, to say something, _anything_. Harry must have gleaned some outward sign as a result of his inner turmoil, as he stood there for a few moments longer, his expression now unreadable. Percy walked into his sitting room, placing both his hands on the back of the sofa. “Don’t leave, please,” he said in a near whisper. “There’s nothing I’d like more than to believe that you might actually fancy me.” He looked up, locking gazes with Harry, who had turned about and was walking toward him. 

“I understand, Percy, really I do,” Harry replied as he sat on the arm of the sofa nearest Percy. “I’ve known you and your family for more than half of my life. You’ve all been the home, the family I never had. You’re like a brother to me.”

Percy cleared his throat. “I’m unsure as to how _that_ helps to clarify things.”

Harry chuckled. “Good point.” He stood and moved next to Percy. “So here it is then.” He trailed his fingers along Percy’s right forearm. “I _do_ fancy you. Very much, obviously, as otherwise, I would subject myself to your intensive analysis and scrutiny. I know we have a great deal of history to sort through, but I’m more than willing to try, if you are.” He stepped very close, his green eyes clear and bright. “What do you say, then?”

Percy stood up and turned toward Harry, who pressed closer to him. He looked down and carded the fingers of one hand through Harry’s hair. “Can’t say that you don’t know what you’re getting into,” he replied.

Harry grinned. “I can say the same for you. I can be moodier than Bill and my temper’s as hot as any Weasley‘s.”

It was Percy’s turn to chuckle. “True enough.”

Harry pulled back slightly. “Ready for that drink now?” Not waiting for Percy’s response, he put out his hand and the glass of Oban floated right into it. “Cheers?”

Percy took the glass, hefted it for a moment, and then downed it in one gulp. He blew out a breath, sending the glass back to the kitchen. “So.”

Harry nodded. “So.”

Percy stared into Harry’s eyes, his hand barely caressing Harry’s hip. Gods, but the man was attractive, all lithe muscleyness and musky sandalwood, barely pressing his most lovely body ever closer. Percy felt a long-protected barrier fall away, the first of many that would need to be demolished if he were truly to let Harry in. Wouldn’t it be easier to let all of it go? Did it make sense to expend so much energy keeping people out, energy that could be put to better use elsewhere? Harry grinned again, his expression so warm and open that Percy held his breath for a moment. 

“So,” Harry repeated, reaching up and trailing a finger down the centre of Percy’s chest. “Are you at all hungry?”

Percy found himself nodding slowly. “Famished,” he replied softly.

“Brilliant,” Harry replied, his finger now resting on the waistband of Percy’s denims. “I’d like to take you to one of my favourite restaurants. It’s a bit of a journey to get there, but I think you’ll like it. We’ll talk some more, have a great meal, and if nothing else, perhaps we can at least become friends.” 

“I’d like that, Harry,” Percy said. “We’ve a lot of ground to cover.” 

“Indeed,” Harry said with a smile. 

“Give me a moment to change into something more appropriate,” Percy replied, turning toward his room. 

“You needn’t bother, really. It’s a fine restaurant, but also casual. I know the owner.” He smiled crookedly as Percy nodded. “Besides, you look just fabulous, really.”

Percy felt himself blush. “Bloody hell,” he murmured, and then, “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Harry answered. “I can recall when Bill gave you that shirt for your sixteenth birthday.” He cleared his throat. Ready?”

“Now? Yes, of course. Should I bring a jacket?”

Harry shook his head. “We’ll be traveling by Floo most of the way.” He stepped to the hearth and grabbed a handful of floo powder. “Heathrow International,” he called out as he threw the powder and stepped into the green flames. 

Percy hesitated only a moment before following. 

 

~~~~~

 

Once at Heathrow, he and Harry made their way to the Portkey gates. Percy had used portkeys before, of course, but never for extremely long distances. He and Harry waited with a small handful of other magicals, all circled about a large, chipped Guinness pitcher on a simple grey pedestal. The floating orange letters above it proclaimed the departure time, as well as the destination: _La Guardia International, New York, USA_.

They waited in silence, Percy standing very close to Harry while the other travellers talked excitedly amongst themselves. After several minutes, a chime sounded and the floating lettering changed to red, flashing the countdown to activation: _ten...nine...eight...seven..._

Harry grinned and nodded toward the pitcher; Percy leaned in, tentatively laying two fingers on the pitcher's rim _...four...three..._ Harry's fingers then covered his own _...two...one..._

The portkey pulled on him suddenly, per usual, but this jump was much stronger, deeper, threatening to pull his very insides out. He glanced to Harry, who smiled and clasped his hand tightly. The transition continued on and on, the rushing of air in his ears and the twisting of his stomach almost to much to bear. Must not faint, must not faint he chanted to himself, and he closed his eyes in the hopes that it would help diminish the unpleasant sensation. It didn’t help, but he kept them closed until the pulling sensation abruptly stopped. His stomach lurched into his chest as he opened his eyes and they dropped to the landing mats, Harry deftly steadying him so that he didn’t fall to his knees. When he looked up past Harry’s smiling face, he saw golden letters blazing overhead: _Welcome to La Guardia International and The United States. Local time is 2:43 pm EDST. Enjoy your stay._

Percy caught his breath and nodded to the resident mediwitch who smiled and moved beyond him while he and Harry stepped out onto the narrow concourse. Wizards and Witches of every age, shape and nationality bustled about, and Harry gestured to their right. He followed, and in an uncharacteristic display of public affection, he draped his arm about Harry's waist. 

Harry looked up at him quizzically. 

Percy shrugged. “I’m still a bit queasy, and we _are_ in a foreign land,” he offered sheepishly, leaning gratefully on Harry as they made their way toward the dedicated Apparition portals. 

After a quick check-in and declaration with an overly effusive customs witch, he and Harry waited in the slowly moving queue toward the bank of portals. As they neared the head of the line, Percy noted how the portals here were stark and utilitarian, plain, grey cubicles with no ornamentation whatsoever. When their turn came, he followed Harry across the expanse of pale blue carpeting to a small cubicle at the far end of the huge space. 

Harry faced him, pulling him in closely. He embraced Harry in response, taking a deep breath as Harry Apparated them away.

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

Percy breathed in the warm, moist air, at once surprised at how different it was. It certainly could become quite sticky in Britain over the summer, but this tropical air was quite surprising. And more than a bit humid. Good thing it was mostly cloudy or else he'd have to try and recall how to cast a sun blocking charm. He reached for his glass of wine and reclined in the high back rattan chair, his knee touching Harry's. As he sipped on the wine, the never-ending stream of automobiles and tourists moved by on the street just below their second floor vantage point. 

They'd Apparated into a ground floor room at the La Concha hotel in a place called Key West in Florida. The room looked like any other Muggle hotel room that he‘d seen, save that this one was perpetually reserved as a dedicated Apparition point. Harry had eagerly led him through the ornate lobby and onto the sidewalk, where the warm, ocean air had hit him like a blast furnace. As they made their way through the milling throng of mostly Muggles, Harry explained that he'd spent a great deal of time in the area searching for one of Voldemort's horcruxes. After a few weeks, he'd discovered that the horcrux in question had been taken to California, where he, Ron and Hermione had finally located and destroyed it. 

The press of people was a bit more than Percy cared for, but he had to admit that it was somewhat exciting nonetheless. And everything was so bloody, well, American, big, loud, colourful, and well over the top. Many of the passersby wore rather garish, floral print clothing, and more than a few were definitely overdone by the sun. He also noticed a rather large number of blokes walking hand in hand or arm in arm. Obviously this was one of those places he'd hear about where poufs were at least tolerated, if not accepted. Harry had nonchalantly draped his arm about his waist, slipping his fingers into the back pocket of his denims. 

They'd passed what seemed to be a never ending stream of shops, guesthouses, pubs, restaurants and outdoor cafes. Percy pointed to an establishment named the Hog's Breath Saloon; Harry'd confirmed that it was indeed a Wizarding establishment. 

The crowds had dwindled a bit as they neared the eastern end of Duvall Street, and they'd darted between the autos to the other side. A few more blocks, and they'd entered a modest little bistro called Armand's. He'd been impressed how quickly and warmly Harry'd been welcomed by the bartender; barely a moment later Armand himself had greeted Harry enthusiastically, the short, smiling Muggle chef shaking both of their hands vigourously. Then, they'd been escorted up a wide spiral staircase, through what looked like a piano bar of some sort, and out onto an outdoor patio with full views of the busy street below and a glimpse of the Atlantic between the palm trees. 

Armand had taken their orders and served them himself, literally beaming when Percy had complimented him on the deliciousness of the meal. They'd taken their time, making small talk as they ate, both of them sorrowfully refusing to partake of any of the enticing choices on the desert tray. 

It was now half-five, and Percy was more comfortable than he'd felt in ages. He drained his glass of wine, reaching for the bottle to find it empty. 

"Oh, sorry, I hadn't noticed," Harry apologized, signalling for another bottle.

"Not a problem." He glanced at Harry, who was smiling that smile again. The one that said he had nothing to fear. "Thank you for a delightful meal, Harry. This is exquisite." He gestured over the railing of the patio. "A bit too busy for my tastes, but lovely nonetheless."

"My pleasure," Harry replied as the server brought the wine. "I wanted to take you someplace you'd never been before."

"This certainly qualifies. First time out of Britain, you know."

Harry nodded, studying Percy’s expression. "You don't care for it."

"No, I mean, of course," Percy said. "Forgive me, I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but it's all been a bit much to take in properly."

Harry scooted his chair closer. "Nothing to forgive, really. I understand what you're saying. We'll take things at your pace. I'm pants at this sort of thing, though," he sighed.

"You're fine, truly," Percy answered. "And you know how horrid we Weasleys are about talking about our feelings."

"Oh yeah, I do indeed," Harry agreed. "Must be one of the things that attracts me to them, I reckon."

Percy sat back as Harry filled his glass. He reached for it, taking a rather large swallow of the wine. 

Harry watched him intently, leaning an elbow on the table and propping his head on his closed fist. He reached over and trailed a finger along Percy's denim clad thigh.

Percy took another drink of wine and set his glass down. "So, why me, then?"

Harry looked up. "I fancy you, Percy. I've told you that."

"So what about Ron? Should I assume that I'm some sort of replacement for him now that he's off surfing or whatever it is he's doing in Australia?"

“Surfing, of all things.” Harry nodded and sat up. "Fair question, though. I was expecting it, actually."

"And?"

Harry filled his own glass and downed the entire thing in several swallows. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he sat back and stared at Percy for several moments. "I love your brother, Percy. Very much. I suppose I sort of fell for him that very first day on the Hogwarts Express. Not in a romantic way, of course."

"You both were only eleven, after all."

"Exactly," Harry agreed. "But Ron immediately took me in, made me feel like I was a part of something, like I belonged. I’d never had anything like that. He taught me most everything I know about the Wizarding World, showed me what it was like to be in a family, what it felt like to be loved."

"Go on."

"Well, you know the rest. You were there for most of it, off to the side, pretending to read or scratch away at some homework assignment, but you knew what was going on."

"I never pretended to do anything," Percy said defensively. "I'm extraordinarily proficient at multi-tasking is all."

Harry chuckled. "Fine, as you say, then."

"So eventually you realized that you loved Ron. Romantically"

"Yeah. Especially after the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

"And that you were queer."

"Right, of course," Harry replied. "I'd known I was different for a long time, but, well, you know exactly what I'm speaking of."

"Yes. I'm loathe to say it, but I'd always suspected that you and Ron were a bit more than simply mates."

Harry shook his head, filling his glass again. "But that's just it, Percy. Ron and I were _always_ best mates, but for the longest time, I was the only one who wanted it to be more than that. It wasn't until the end of sixth year, after Dumbledore was murdered, that I finally brought things out into the open. When I told Ron exactly how I felt about him."

Percy arched an eyebrow. "And?"

"You know Ron."

Percy cleared his throat. "Indeed."

"I could tell he wasn't entirely comfortable with being queer, let alone having the entire Wizarding World find out that he was shagging The Boy Who Lived to Suck Cock."

"Succinctly put," Percy observed, stifling laughter as he sipped his wine. "Ron always was a bit, well, how do they say? Up tight?"

"Everyone handles it differently. Ron finally admitted to himself about who and what he was, and we made a lot of headway while we hunted up the horcruxes with Hermione." Harry turned his head to gaze up Duvall Street. "Ron didn't care for Key West, either. Another way he's a lot like you."

Percy sat back in his chair, his wine glass perched on one knee. Harry seemed to be waiting for something; what, he didn't know. "So then the War comes along, and throws everything to the Four Winds."

Harry nodded. "I barely heard from Ron for most of those three years. There were times when I didn't know if he were alive or dead. But we were assigned to the same unit for the last six months or so, right before the end."

"And then it was over, you were a hero, and then what?"

Harry chuckled mirthlessly. "It was funny, but after all we'd been through, all the death and destruction and loss, all the pain, when we'd found that we'd survived, things were even worse than before."

"What do you mean? I'd heard that you two actually shared a flat for a short time after Voldemort was destroyed."

"You said it yourself. I was a fucking war hero, my picture plastered all over the front pages of _The Prophet, The Quibbler, Witches Weekly_ and even _Triple Q_ , for Circe's sake."

"And Ron didn't want to risk having such a well-know Wizard for his consort."

Harry chuckled. "I suppose that could have been part of it, but he was a bit changed from the War. We both were. Neither one of us were virginal anymore, that was a sure and certain fact." He sipped his wine. "No, it was something else. You recall how he reacted when my name flew out of the Goblet of Fire?"

Percy nodded.

"Well, this was worse. Much, much worse. Ron's always had a problem with jealousy. He'd never talk about it, but it seems to consume him. He just couldn't deal with all the attention I was getting. It ate away at him, day after day, week after week. He's got the Weasley temper in spades, and I don't think there was a single object in our flat that I hadn't performed at least one _Reparo_ on."

"He never..."

Harry waved a hand. "Merlin, no, he never hurt me. Never tried. Much worse than that, much worse. Always took things out on himself."

"What did he do?"

"Well, at first it was firewhiskey. Then, he'd go out alone, sometimes not returning until the next morning, bruised, bloody, stinking. I knew he was shagging nameless blokes. Nothing I could do at that point, Merlin knows I tried. Then, near the end, before he left, that's when I noticed the scars."

Percy shook his head. “His scars? I don’t understand.”

Harry took a deep breath. “I don‘t mean the scars he got from the War. These were new, fresh.” 

“Merlin,” Percy sighed, swallowing some more wine.

"Yeah. He was cutting himself,” Harry confirmed. “Not easy to notice, with all the scars he already had. But I _did_ finally figure it out. When I confronted him with it, he flew into a rage. He was really hurting, but he wasn’t rational. He left the flat, coming back the next morning. But he’d closed me off, shut me out. That‘s when I realized it was too late." Harry again finished his glass of wine. "I just couldn't stay there and watch. I love him with all my heart, Percy, but I wouldn't be a party to his self-destruction. He wouldn't let me in. There was no one else to turn to; your Mum and Dad were still reeling from Fred and Ginny, Bill was off with Remus in Slovenia, and Charlie was still in St. Mungo's. There wasn't anything I could do. So I left. And then so did Ron."

Percy shifted in his seat, reaching out for Harry's hand. "I had no idea it was that horrible."

Harry stared him directly in the eye. "No, you wouldn't. You may have cut yourself off from your family, but they never closed the door on you. Not completely."

Percy stiffened immediately. "We are _not_ discussing my relationship with my family."

Harry nodded. "Didn't think you'd want to."

"I don't."

"Fine."

"Agreed, then," Percy shot back, draining his wine. "So, it sounds like the only reason that you're here with me is because my sodding younger brother is little more than a basket case, not to mention half the world away."

Harry paused a long time before answering. "I'll be totally honest then," he began. "You're right, of course. If Ron had been more secure with his self image, if he'd been a bit less concerned with what people think, if he'd been a bit less fucked up from the War; yeah, we'd still be together." He waved for another bottle of wine. "But we're not together now, if we ever really were. And I don't see us trying again. There's something that he needs that I can't give him. Part of me wants to try again, to make it right, but deep down, I know it wouldn’t work. So here we are, and all you've got to decide is whether you want to give it a go or not."

"Just that simple, yes? Move from one brother to the next, just like that?"

Harry growled. “Don‘t be daft, of course it‘s not simple. But how many times must I say that I fancy you, Percy? That perhaps I always have?"

Percy shrugged. "Same question I asked earlier then: why me?" He knew he was being overly difficult with Harry, but something in the back of his head was secretly miffed at playing second seat to Ron. He watched as Harry licked his lips and folded his arms.

"Because I think you're a lot like me, that's why. Because I feel that you and I understand each other on a basic level, that we both know what it's like to be different, apart, outcasts if you will. We've both had to go it alone for a great portion of our lives, and that's defined what we are. I used to watch you when I spent time at The Burrow. You were alone because you chose to be, and that always fascinated me."

"I just didn't fell like I belonged, to be honest. I wasn't into Quidditch like the others were. I never minded being alone. Pretty good at it, actually. I'd always enjoyed reading. Still do."

Harry leaned forward. "But you _adore_ Quidditch, Percy, don't try to tell me otherwise. I know. I watched you fly from Ron's window more times than I can count. Late at night. Alone. When you thought no one was watching. But I was."

Percy stared. "I really wasn't that good," he protested, filling his glass. 

"Sure you were. You'd have been fabulous on the Gryffindor House team. You always declined to play with your brothers because if you did, if you joined in, then you'd lose your individuality. You'd be just another red-headed Weasley at Hogwarts."

"You've certainly given this some thought," Percy said softly. "And you’re right about Quidditch. But I decided to dedicate myself to my studies. Twelve OWLS. A Weasley record.” He nodded to Harry. “So that's your rationale, then?"

"Some of it," Harry admitted. "You're really making me work here, you know that?"

Percy allowed a small chuckle. "Is that what I'm doing?"

"Let me tell you the rest, then," Harry said. "You were different, Percy, and you knew it. And instead of fighting it, you embraced it. You made it your own. I learned a lot from you, truly."

Percy blinked. "You can't be serious."

Harry nodded. "Bloody hell, will you quit doubting me? Just listen! You worked hard, but never really got the attention you deserved. You stuck to your guns during hard times, and when things went wrong, you never backed down. Sure, there might have been some tiny sign that Scrimgeour was actually a glamoured Voldemort, but even his closest friends, his own sister for fuck's sake, didn't know the difference, couldn't tell until it was too late."

Percy waved a hand. "I'm pleased you understand. You're certainly one of the few. I'd no idea you saw us as such kindred spirits."

"I do, really," Harry replied. "I mean, look at that dog's misery you're stuck with in the basement. And that fucking converted broom closet of mine. Someone at The Ministry has a truly warped sense of humour."

"Too right, that," Percy agreed.

"And there's more, too," Harry said, leaning in very close and throwing his arm about Percy's shoulders. "I've always had a thing for ginger hair, and tall blokes with pale, grey eyes." He breathed into Percy's ear. "And I swear your arse is much nicer than Ron's."

Percy shuddered slightly, one of his hands running along Harry's inner thigh. "Forgive me, but now I’m certain that’s the wine talking.” 

Harry snorted. “It’s not the wine.” His fingertips teased the denim of Percy’s crotch.

Percy nodded. “All right then. But I'm not certain that your friend Armand would appreciate such a display in his fine establishment." He leaned his head against Harry's. "I'm sure you know of someplace suitable."

Harry's tongue darted out to tease the shell of Percy's ear. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do." 

“Excellent,” Percy murmured as Harry suddenly leaned in and pressed their lips together. He immediately returned Harry’s advance with relish, closing his eyes and tilting his head slightly, allowing Harry’s persistent tongue to have its way. Harry’s lips were soft and deliciously sweet, the lingering after-taste of the wine a perfect enhancement. Percy moaned as Harry’s hand worked its way along the inside of his thigh. Then he sensed someone was standing at their table. His eyes snapped open and he pulled away, sitting up to stare at a definitely bemused and smiling Armand. 

Harry cleared his throat and picked up his glass of wine, winking at Armand, who chuckled heartily. 

“I trust you gents enjoyed the meal, then?” Armand asked, meaty hands planted on his hips. He winked at Harry before nodding to Percy. “I certainly hope we’ll be seeing you again, and soon.”

Percy looked at Harry who was staring back at him from under heavily lidded eyes. “Everything was delightful, sir,” Percy said. “My compliments.”

“Please, it’s Armand,” the smiling chef insisted. 

Percy nodded as Harry sat up, unfolding some odd-looking Muggle currency. 

Armand shook his head. “How many times do I have to tell you, that’s no good here.”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah,” Armand replied with a crooked grin. “Remember our arrangement? Now, feel free to sit back and relax as long as you’d like.” He glanced up at the darkening sky. “Looks like rain, though, so I’ve set aside a table for you in the lounge.”

“Thanks,” Harry replied.

“Don’t mention it,” Armand said. “Oh, uh, will you be staying in town tonight? I can have Darren run over and open up your place if you are.”

Harry shot Percy a glance, pausing for a long moment before looking back to Armand. 

Before Harry could speak, Percy answered for him. “That’d be brilliant, Armand, thank you.” He winked at Harry, whose eyes went wide.

Armand bowed slightly and bustled off. 

Harry shook his head. “Full of surprises this evening,” he observed wryly. “I was certain you’d want to return to London. Workday tomorrow and all that.”

Percy raised both eyebrows. “I believe I’m long overdue for a mental health day. You have a house here, apparently,” Percy offered, draining his glass.

“Yeah. More like a bungalow, really. Nothing flash.” Harry put down his glass and stood up. “Want to see it?”

Percy rose from his chair to stand behind Harry. “Absolutely.” He nuzzled the side of Harry’s head. “Lead on.” 

They made their way through the now crowded piano bar and down the spiral staircase, stopping for moment as Armand bade them farewell, hugging them both before returning to his kitchen. They stepped out onto the sidewalk, with Harry leading them back down Duvall, east toward the ocean. The heavy cloud cover had brought dusk quite early, and there were the faintest grumbles of thunder off in the distance behind them. Harry made several turns down increasingly narrower streets, some little more than alleyways. 

“So,” Percy began, “Armand knows you’re a wizard?” 

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “His mum was a squib, and she married a Muggle. Quite a few like Armand out there. McGonagall gave me a short list of contacts when she sent us here, and Armand was the only one willing to get involved. He was born and raised in the area, so he was extremely helpful when we were hunting down that last horcrux.”

“Quite the fellow,” Percy commented. “Very risky for a Muggle to do that. Completely defenseless.”

Harry chuckled. “Right. Fortunately, we were able to flush out all the Death Eaters relatively quickly. It got dicey for awhile, but everyone came out with only a few scars to boast of. And The Ministry assigned two full-time interns here to keep an eye on things.”

Percy nodded. “I’m familiar with that program. Least The Ministry can do, and it provides excellent, on-the-job training. I assume this Darren is one of us?”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, pulling Percy in close as they walked. “Decent bloke, but very, very young.”

Percy nodded, grinning slightly. Just then, a chicken squawked and bolted across the narrow street. He jumped, coming to a halt as another bird emerged from the underbrush and followed the first one. “Um, Harry, what’s with the chickens?”

Harry chuckled. “They run wild here. The climate is such that they can live comfortably on their own year-round. Odd, but I sort of like it.”

“Interesting place, I’ll grant you that,” Percy replied.

They walked in silence for a bit longer, arm in arm, until Harry stopped and indicated the rough lettering painted on a telephone post. “This way,” he said, jerking his head down the narrow gravel track. 

“Surrey Street?” Percy asked, no small amount of amusement in his voice. 

Harry merely chuckled as they walked on, passing low walls, fences and gates of various shapes, sizes and conditions. Percy could make out small cottage-like houses set back from the street, all shrouded in dense tropical vegetation and palm trees. It was hard to believe that the heady press of Duvall Street was just a few blocks away. Up ahead, he could see that Surrey ended in a very tiny cul-de-sac, with a tall stucco wall forming an inverted semi-circle most of the way around it. An unmarked, splintered wooden gate divided the wall in two nearly equal halves. 

Harry gestured to the gate. “Welcome to number thirteen, Surrey Street.” He lifted the rusty iron latch and pushed the gate open. “After you,” he rumbled.

Percy stepped through into what he imagined that during daylight hours was a well-shaded palm grove. Now, however, it was nearly full dark. The quality of light was almost surreal, with an odd, reddish cast. He could just make out a gravel path snaking its way through the trunks, and perhaps one hundred yards ahead, the unmistakable glow of lamplight, Harry’s bungalow, no doubt. Lightning flashed and thunder grumbled, louder and closer. 

He heard the gate clank shut, and then a moment later, two hands snaked around his waist. He felt Harry’s warm breath on the back of his neck.

“Not much to see in the dark,” Harry murmured, pressing his groin into Percy’s arse.

Percy turned about, more lightning illuminating the lenses of Harry’s glasses as he pulled Harry in tight. “I’m sure it’s all lovely,” he murmured, tilting his head and kissing Harry deeply. He slid one hand down the back of Harry’s denims as Harry kneaded his own arse firmly. They moaned into each other’s mouths as more lightning flashed, thunder cracking almost immediately afterward. 

The steady, sharp ticks of rain against the canopy of palm fronds increased rapidly, becoming a heavy downpour. Percy broke their kiss as lightning flashed three times in succession. “Bloody hell!” he yelped, both of them instantly soaked through.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, leaning up to kiss him again. 

Percy melted into the kiss, the rain, lightning, and thunder fading away until there was nothing but Harry. Nothing but Harry’s warm, soft lips on his, nothing but Harry’s questing tongue probing his mouth, nothing but Harry’s calloused hands untucking his shirt and exploring the topography of his lower back. Nothing but Harry holding him closer, Harry’s erection pressing against his thigh. He was drowning, willingly, in a deluge of Harry, and he never wanted it to end.

He moaned into Harry’s mouth, his hands sliding up and under Harry’s t-shirt. He slowly ground his hips into Harry’s abdomen, his fully erect cock suddenly demanding release. Slowly, the thundershower reasserted itself into Percy’s perception, and he shivered. He wasn’t certain if it was from the suddenly cool gusts of wind or from the delicious manipulations of Harry’s lips, tongue, and fingers. 

Harry must have sensed Percy’s need, as he pulled away and smiled, his long fringe plastered to his forehead, his glasses hopelessly fogged. “Let’s get inside, yeah?,” he said, jerking his head toward his bungalow. “I need to get you out of those clothes before I explode.” He smiled again, tugging gently on Percy’s hand. 

Percy nodded and they both jogged through the dim palm grove toward warm square of light ahead. The rain had lessened somewhat, but was still falling quite heavily. Percy stood very close while Harry dropped the wards and unlocked the front door. He followed Harry inside, his arms about Harry’s waist. Percy scanned the small sitting room quickly, noting the fire burning in the hearth and the handful of candles spaced about the room. 

More lightning flashed as the stiffening breeze ruffled the curtains covering the half-open windows. Letting go of Harry, he stepped up to the small mantel, immediately drawn to the collection of photos displayed there. Many were copies of those that Harry kept in his desk drawer in his office. He turned about to find Harry closing and latching the pair of windows on the west side of the bungalow. “This is delightful, Harry,” he said, moving across the bare wood floor. 

Harry shrugged and glanced about the room. “Thanks. Armand was nice enough to offer the property to me at a fair price. Don’t spend enough time here, though.” He moved towards Percy, the fire and candlelight reflected in the lenses of his glasses. He chuckled softly, gesturing to the candles. “Devon’s outdone himself tonight. The git.”

Percy ran a finger down the centre of Harry’s damp t-shirt, stopping when it reached the large brushed nickel buckle of his belt. “Nice to have friends you can count on so,” he said quietly, his breath suddenly hitching in his chest. “I’d imagine you go through quite a few candles. Can‘t be any shortage of blokes that fancy you.” He regretted speaking the words the instant they left his mouth. 

There was still the smallest, tiniest voice in the deepest recesses of his mind that remained the cynic, untrusting, vehemently refusing to believe that Harry was sincere, that Harry was truly interested in him. He took a deep breath, willing that nattering little bastard to silence. He did want to believe; he wanted to trust Harry, to let it all go and fall into those wonderfully muscled arms, to bury his head against Harry’s chest and just _be_.

Harry looked down to the floorboards. “Oh, sure, blokes hit on me all the time.” He looked up, his expression more than a bit thoughtful. “I’ve no reason to think that you’ll believe me, but there hasn’t been anyone since your brother. I haven’t really wanted there to be one.” He traced the lettering on Percy’s shirt. “Until now.”

Percy took Harry’s hand, gently bringing it up to his lips and suckling each knuckle in turn. He let Harry’s hand drop then, stepping closer and leaning his forehead on Harry’s. “I’m not at all certain how to proceed from here. I’ve been with fellows, of course, but never...”

“No worries,” Harry murmured, his hands clamping on Percy’s hips. “We’ll just take it as it comes. One day at a time.”

“All right,” Percy replied, un-tucking Harry’s t-shirt and lifting it slowly.

Harry tensed immediately. 

“What?” Percy asked, Harry’s shirt barely half-way over his stomach. 

“I should warn you,” Harry said so softly it was difficult for Percy to make out the words over the rain and wind. “I didn’t survive the War unscathed. I’m...” his voice trailed off as he removed his glasses and set them on a nearby side table. He then lifted the t-shirt up and over his head, tossing it on the back of the sofa. 

Percy backed away a few steps, in order to get a better view. The flickering light from the hearth illuminated Harry’s bare upper body. He took a deep breath and bit his bottom lip as Harry planted both fists on his hips and stared out the nearest window. The scarring was deep and extensive. It began several inches below Harry’s left pectoral, spreading up to and beyond the centre of his chest and stopping just below his collarbone. The dark, puckered flesh wrapped around his left shoulder and under his arm. 

“Sweet Merlin,” Percy murmured, his breath suddenly short, as if all the air had been pulled from the room. He’d never seen such scarring before, leastways on a living person. The force of the curse that had caused such damage was unimaginable. And that Harry had survived such an onslaught...it boggled Percy’s already overloaded mind. 

Harry had slipped his glasses back on, his eyes wide and bright as they gauged Percy’s reaction. 

Percy lifted his hand up slowly, his fingers barely grazing the blackened skin. He started as Harry gasped.

“Sorry,” Percy said, pulling his hand away. “I didn’t meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t. Just a bit sensitive.”

“Indeed.”

“More ticklish than anything,” Harry admitted. 

“How?”

“Riddle,” Harry asnwered simply. “I was in the Trauma Ward at St. Mungo’s for nearly six months. Thank Circe they never gave up on me.”

“Six months? I thought it was only a few weeks.”

Harry chuckled. “The Ministry’s Obfuscation Division worked overtime on that one.”

Percy stepped closer. “Oh, Harry. Dear, Harry.” He lifted Harry’s chin. “It’s fully healed, then?”

Harry snorted. “Not exactly. In remission, you could say. The withering curse had so insinuated itself into my ambric signature that all that could be done was to induce stasis on the affected areas. Dark Magic, you know.” He glanced down at his chest. “It was barely the size of a galleon at first. Madame Monkshood, the head of the Dark Curses Department at St. Mungo’s, is absolutely certain she’s only a few months away from finding the cure. Until then, the advance of the curse is so small I can barely notice it.” He averted his gaze to stare at the fireplace. “I actually considered glamouring myself...but then I felt that you should know the truth before...before, well...in case it might make a difference. I‘ll understand if you want to leave now.”

Percy leaned in and kissed Harry’s forehead. “No, I don’t want to leave. And it doesn’t make a difference.” He caressed Harry’s chest. “At all.”

Harry embraced him tightly and buried his head in Percy’s chest. 

Percy hugged back in kind, tracing small circles on Harry’s bare back. They held each other for many long moments, the thunderstorm continuing full force outside. Percy kissed the top of Harry’s head. Harry then pulled away and walked across the sitting room, opening one of the doors on the wall opposite the hearth. Percy followed, closing the door behind him. Harry stood at the foot of a huge brass bed, facing him. Lightning flashed and thunder roiled, the rain pummelling the roof of the small bungalow. Percy removed his glasses and made to lift off his Puddlemere t-shirt. 

“Here, let me,” Harry said, walking over and carefully lifting Percy’s shirt up and over his head. He tossed it away and ran his hands over Percy’s lean and lightly furred chest. He bent forward, licking and laving at one of Percy’s mounded nipples, eventually sucking on it with relish. 

Percy gasped as Harry suckled him, Harry’s teeth nibbling the sensitive nub of flesh and eliciting louder yelps of pleasure from him. Harry pulled away and deftly released the button and zip of his denims. The next moment they were shoved down below his hips, with Harry licking along the thin line of ginger hair that ran down the centre of his belly. Harry dropped to his knees, burying his face into Percy’s boxers and nuzzling his erection through the thin cotton fabric. 

“Oh, gods,” Percy moaned, running his fingers through Harry’s damp hair. He stumbled backward as Harry pushed him against a tall bureau. He steadied himself as Harry removed his trainers and pulled off his denims. Harry stood up, one hand on his erect, boxer-clad cock while the other fumbled with the fasteners of his own denims. 

Percy reached over and assisted Harry, undoing the zip while Harry wriggled out of the jeans and kicked them away. 

Percy ran his hands over Harry’s hips, the smooth, almost slick sensation of Harry’s skin-tight Muggle undershorts deliciously arousing. His fingers brushed against the outline of Harry’s thick erection, which was threatening to burst forth from the waistband of the under shorts.

Harry lunged at him then, savagely claiming his lips in an all-encompassing kiss. Harry’s tongue invaded his mouth, and he willingly granted Harry access. He scrunched down somewhat so that their erections were more or less on the same level, grinding his hips into Harry’s. 

Harry growled into his mouth and responded in kind, his hands squeezing and massaging Percy’s arse. Percy thrust his hands down Harry’s back and into Harry’s shorts, his fingers exploring the impossibly smooth contours of Harry’s arse. The next instant, Harry broke their kiss and slid down Percy’s body, roughly yanking Percy’s boxers down as he dropped to his knees. 

Grabbing Percy’s cock with one hand while the other teased the crack of Percy‘s arse, Harry closed his mouth over the head of Percy’s prick, swirling his tongue in a deliciously intricate dance. He expertly teased the slit of Percy’s cock while his hand stroked the length of the erect shaft in a steady rhythm. 

Percy threw his head back as he bucked his hips in concert with Harry’s ministrations. He took deep, open-mouthed breaths as Harry began to take more of his cock, his moans and groans of pleasure increasing in direct correlation to Harry’s precise but forceful attentions. 

_“Harry, oh, Harry, fuck, Harry!”_ he gasped as Harry grabbed both of his arse cheeks and pulled him in tight, swallowing his entire length and holding it there for an impossibly long moment. Harry then began sucking and pulling on his cock with a near frenzied fervour, and he felt that delicious heat begin to expand from deep inside his groin. He whipped his head back and forth, his speech reduced to pleasurful grunts and growls as Harry continued to assault his erection. 

“Going to come,” he managed to rasp out, and Harry instantly released him, standing up and shoving his own under shorts down. Percy reached out for Harry’s bobbing erection, but he missed. Harry quickly moved toward the bed, kicking off the undershorts and laying on his back. Harry pushed himself up against the mass of pillows, his smile broad and beckoning, his cock thick and heavy, the fingers of one hand barely grazing the length of it. 

Percy realized he was standing there, staring, drinking in the tableau of Harry’s naked body on the bed before him. Lightning flashed, washing the room with light, the subsequent thunder chiding him to move again. Harry grinned crookedly at him as he fumbled behind the pillows to pull out a tube of what could only have been lubricant of some sort. Percy quickly stepped out of his boxers, that had pooled about his ankles, climbing onto the tall mattress and into Harry’s arms. 

Their lips merged once more, and Percy rumbled deeply as their erect cocks slid together, heated flesh against flesh, for the first time. Their sweat-slicked skin glided in a delicious friction, and they both bucked and ground their hips into each other. Percy gasped as Harry snaked a hand between them, the coolness of the lubricant a stark contrast against their super-heated flesh. 

Harry closed his fingers around both of their erections, quickly coating them with the ultra-slick substance. Percy rutted against Harry for a few moments before Harry scooted himself up and spread his legs wide. Percy slid downward slightly, suckling at Harry’s jawline before proceeding down Harry’s neck to lave and nibble the flesh there. He could feel Harry writhing about beneath him, and he adjusted himself some more, his cock slipping behind Harry’s balls and teasing the crack of Harry’s arse. 

Harry moaned deeply as Percy nudged the end of his cock against his entrance. Harry slid the tube of lube across the coverlet, and Percy sat up, spuirting the thick goop on three of his fingers. He slathered it all along the crevice of Harry’s arse, his index finger locating and pressing against Harry’s tight ring of muscle. He smoothly inserted the digit, quickly burying it to the knuckle. Harry groaned and tensed for a brief moment before drawing his knees up and placing his feet flat on the mattress. 

“Do it,” he gasped. “Want you. _Want you inside, Perce_.”

Percy pulled his hand back, quickly sliding two fingers inside Harry and scissoring them about as he twisted and turned them in tight half-circles. Harry panted, ever so gently pressing himself against Percy’s fingers. One of Harry’s hands began stroking his own erection while with the other he added more lubricant. 

“Fuck, Perce, want you now, _ohgodsfuckingwantyounow_!” Harry gibbered.

Percy removed his fingers and straddled Harry, the tip of his cock sliding along the divide between Harry’s arsecheeks. Harry stroked himself with increasing abandon as Percy smoothly and firmly thrust his erection into Harry’s tight heat, pausing slightly when he was half-way inside. Harry yelped and arched his back before taking a deep breath and laying back down on the mattress. 

Percy pushed firmly until he was fully sheathed within Harry, leaning down to plant a wet kiss on Harry’s parted lips. He then pulled back a bit before beginning to press in and out of Harry, ever careful to maintain an even rhythm. Harry closed his eyes and stroked himself without mercy while Percy increased the speed of his own thrusts. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer; the sensation of his cock sliding within Harry’s wonderfully tight arse was nearly more than he could bear. He felt the heat spark wihin his groin once more, slowly growing before blossoming into the fusion of orgasm. He called out as he buried himself within Harry, his seed coursing through and out of him as never before. 

Harry continued to buck and press his arse against Percy’s spent prick for a few moments longer before he too came, his ejaculate spurting between his clenched fingers and dotting the skin of his stomach. He clenched himself about Percy’s cock, seemingly unwilling to release it. 

Percy gasped and pulled out, flopping bonelessly at Harry’s side and throwing his arm across Harry’s chest. He snuggled closer, nuzzling and kissing Harry’s cheek. Harry embraced him tightly. Thunder grumbled far off in the distance as rain spattered the roof and dripped through the downspouts and off of the eaves. They lay in silence, entwined, the fingers of Percy’s right hand ghosting across the surface of Harry’s scar. Eventually, Percy noted the slower rhythm of Harry’s breathing, and finally, the unmistakable sound of light snoring. 

He murmured a thorough set of cleansing charms on them both and sat up, pulling on a light blanket that was laid over the end of the bed frame. He draped it over their lower bodies and lay back down, once again placing a protective arm across Harry’s chest. 

Percy felt completely sated, at ease, comfortable. And safe. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt all of these feelings with such synchronicity. Was it possible that simply being so intimate with a person was able to bring them all together? He certainly didn’t consider himself to be a romantic, and had always scoffed at those who’d professed to be previously. So how did he explain how he felt now? Everything was suddenly fine, better, bang on. And it all seemed because of the man asleep in his arms. 

“Harry,” he murmured quietly, pleased with the way the name sounded on his lips. “ _My_ Harry.” 

Percy closed his eyes and fell asleep nearly instantly.

 

~~~~~~~

 

Percy awoke as the first grey light of dawn crept through the blinds of Harry’s bedroom window. Harry had rolled away to the far side of the bed during the night, curling into a ball, his back to Percy. 

Percy slipped out of the bed as carefully as he could, mindful of the squeaky boxspring. He located his boxers and padded into Harry’s bathroom, quickly relieving his bladder and turning on the taps to the shower. After a quick wash and rinse, he cast the usual teeth cleansing charms and a shaver, collecting his denims and shirt and charming them clean as well. He slipped on his boxers and denims, moving into the bungalow’s tiny kitchen. Fortunately, the tea kettle and bags were in plain sight, and after a brief moment of confusion over how to ignite Harry’s Muggle range, he had the kettle on and two cups ready on the counter. Percy was amazed at how well-kept the little house was, especially if Harry rarely spent time there. There was even fresh cream in the tiny refrigerator.

He walked back out into the sitting room and gazed out the large bank of windows that faced east. The sky was still rather dark, but the horizon over the patch of ocean visible through the palms was the brightest, blazing crimson he’d ever seen. The kettle whistled importantly, and he hurried back into the kitchen, turning off the burner. He poured the hot water into one of the cups, allowing the bag to steep while he walked back into the sitting room to gaze at the sunrise again. 

Impulsively, he set down his tea and opened the back door, striding across the tiny brick patio that spanned the back of the bungalow. The bricks were damp but warm on his bare feet as he padded across the patio, then following a narrow path that wound through some palms and underbrush. A few hundred yards and he found himself on a narrow strand of beach that extended for perhaps a half-mile in either direction. 

The sun had just peeked over the horizon, and Percy walked up to the water’s edge, careful to dodge the remains of various and sundry sea creatures that had washed up during the storm. The sand was incredibly warm, but the water was warmer still, like bath water. He walked in up to his ankles, the low, wide waves slowly washing to shore just behind him. He stood there for a few moments, breathing in the warm air and just enjoying the sensation of the warm water on his feet. 

He then turned about and found a clear area of sand and sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees to watch the sunrise. He was struck at how different the landscape was, how alien, almost, to his homeland. Of course there was nowhere as beautiful and beloved as The Burrow, but this place was different. It felt lighter somehow, more carefree, and even if one had to work the daylight hours away in a confined office, surely escaping that and coming home to this…this idyllic place…couldn’t be half-bad at all. 

Somewhere off in the distance a rooster crowed, and he smiled as he recalled the resident population of wild chickens. A dog barked in response, followed by another rooster from a different direction. He glanced to his left and noted a lone figure jogging along the water’s edge. Muggle, most likely. He shifted a bit as he heard footsteps behind him. He craned his neck to see a shirtless Harry trudging across the narrow beach, a most definitely relieved expression on his face. Percy turned to watch the sun as it rose above the waves to disappear behind a bank of distant clouds.

“Hey,” Harry said, plopping down in the sand next to him. 

“Good morning,” Percy relpied, leaning his shoulder to Harry’s. He studied Harry’s chest. “You’re glamoured.”

Harry chuckled. “Yeah. No need to send the natives away screaming.”

“I don’t believe they would,” Percy replied, his toes digging into the warm sand. 

Harry ran a hand through Percy’s hair. “Back to your old style, eh?”

Percy gasped. “Shite! I’d forgotten!”

“No worries. You look handsome this way too.” He stroked the side of Percy’s head, his hand falling to Percy’s side and grasping for his hand. 

The female jogger approached them, and they both turned and nodded silent greetings. She smiled warmly and nodded in response, passing them and continuing on her way down the beach. 

“You know,” Percy said, “I believe we’ve both forgotten to call in to work.”

Harry chuckled. “I just firecalled Ken. He’d already chatted with Terry, and they’ve both covered for us.”

“Good mates,” Percy commented.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed.

Percy scooted closer, running his fingers over Harry’s glamoured chest. “You don’t have to do this you know. Not around me.”

“Well, I know I don’t care to look at it sometimes. I didn’t think you’d want to, either.” He shook his head. “Bloody gruesome, really.”

“Never. You’re bloody gorgeous, to me anyway.” Percy leaned in and kissed the side of Harry’s head. “We’ve all got scars, Harry, some worse than others. Some that can be seen, some that can’t.” 

Harry nodded. “Yeah. You’re right, of course.”

“Of course.”

Harry laughed, tossing a small pebble into the surf. He looked at Percy, and the glamour faded. “You realise there are no guarantees with this.”

Percy nodded. “Yes. But that’s the way of it.” He snorted. “Be rather dull if life came with a guarantee, wouldn’t you say?”

“Right again,” Harry said. 

Percy leaned in and kissed Harry once more. “So, what now?”

“How about some tea and a little breakfast?” Harry offered. 

“Sounds delightful. As long as you do the cooking,” Percy said with a smile. “That Muggle contraption of yours is most definitely wonky.” 

“I’d love to cook for you, Percy. And don’t worry, I’ve never liked electric ranges myself.”

Percy paused a moment, staring at the waves. “Harry, what I meant was...what do we do now? Where do we go from here?”

“Dunno,” Harry replied. “Anywhere we like, I suppose. I hope that you’re talking about us together, right?”

“Yes, I am,” Percy said. “Is that what you’d like?”

Harry nodded, smiling. “Yeah, it is.”

“That’s settled then.” He stood up, offering Harry his hand. “I could use that tea now. And perhaps a muffin or two.” 

Harry looked up, smiling ear to ear. “Sounds good. I’m famished.”

 

~~~~~~~

 

Percy closed the lid on the last of the storage boxes, shrinking them down and placing them into his pocket. He then went through the drawers of his desk one last time, ensuring that he’d indeed emptied them completely. He was checking the filing cabinet when someone cleared his throat behind him. 

“Not very nice, abandoning friends like this,” Terry pouted as he leaned against the doorframe. “Merlin knows who or what I’ll get stuck with as a partner.”

Percy closed the drawer and put up his hands. “Sorry, mate. Time for a change. You’ll do fine, as long as your next partner has plenty of Madame Ciara’s on hand.” He crossed over to Terry, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And we’re only a portkey or a floo away. You’re coming out this weekend, yes?”

Terry rolled his eyes and looked away. “Yeah, yeah, sure, I’ll see you then. I‘m dying to witness these wild chickens in action.” He looked back at Percy, his eyes the slightest bit misty. “I’ll miss you, you poncey pouf.” He hugged Percy tightly, burying his head in the crook of Percy’s neck. “Arsehole,” he mumbled as he patted Percy’s back roughly.

They hugged eatch other for a moment longer and Percy pulled away, patting Terry’s cheek. “I’ll miss you too, Terry.” He averted his gaze to stare at the flooring. “I can’t ever begin to thank you enough for everything. You’ve been the best friend to me, truly. I know I’ve never said…”

Terry cut him off with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine, Perce, really. No need to get all sappy on me at the very end. You don’t have to say anything. I understand.” He stepped close and planted a chaste kiss on Percy’s forehead. “Enjoy yourself. And don’t forget the sunblocking charms. With that pasty skin of yours, you’ll sear to a crisp if you’re not careful.”

Percy chuckled. “Thanks, I’ll remember, although I‘m certain that I‘ll still turn into one, giant freckle.” Percy wanted to say more, but his throat choose that precise moment to close up. Shockingly, he felt the prick of tears in his eyes, and he cursed himself for being such an emotional shirt-lifter. He lunged at Terry, hugging him tightly. “Thanks, Terry, thanks so much.”

“Oy, now what’s this?”

Percy lifted his head to see Ken Towler standing in the hallway, smiling widely. Harry was at his side, as was Luna Lovegood. “Nothing,” Percy replied sheepishly, taking a few steps away from Terry. He nodded to Harry. “Are you packed up?”

Harry patted the pocket of his denim jacket. “Yeah. Desk empty, resignation letter owled, flat packed.” He stepped through the door, throwing an arm about Percy’s waist. 

Terry groaned and stepped into the hallway. “I think we’d best be off,” he said to Ken, who nodded. “Don’t want to miss our dinner reservation. Besides, I’m starved.”

Ken shot them a knowing glance. “Too right. Wait’ll you see what I’ve got planned for dessert.” He waggled his eyebrows and Terry actually blushed. Luna fingered one of her turnip earrings, Harry chuckled and Percy pulled a face. 

“Safe journey, mates,” Ken said, giving them a small wave. Terry winked as Ken threw an arm about his shoulders and guided them down the hallway toward the lifts. 

“Well I’ll be a skrewt’s bum,” Harry wondered aloud. “Did you know anything about those two?”

Percy held up his hands. “Do I look like a Divinator?”

Luna laughed. “Oh, that’s funny, Percival, really!” She threw back her head and laughed some more, before stopping abruptly and reaching out to grasp Percy’s forearm. “And for Merlin’s sake, watch where you walk in your bare feet. Starfish and jellyfish, don’t you know.” She glanced both directions down the hallway before continuing. “Don’t forget the sunblock charms, yes?”

Percy nodded robotically while Harry struggled to maintain his composure, his hand clamped tightly over his mouth. Luna smiled sweetly for a moment before releasing Percy and placing her hand on Harry’s chest. “Don’t give up on Madam Monkshood. It may take longer than either of you think.” She then took a deep breath, cocking her head to one side and smiling. “Well, just wanted to see you two off. Can’t stand about all day jabbering, now can we? Go on, off with you!” She put a hand on each of their shoulders and steered them down the corridor to the lifts. She jabbed at the ‘down’ button and bustled away down the corridor. “See you this Friday, around half-eight!”

The lift arrived with an annoying _ding_ as Percy turned to Harry. “What did she mean by that?”

Harry stepped into the lift. “Main Floor, please.”

“Thank you,” the lift replied flatly.

“Well?” Percy insisted.

“I didn’t invite her, really. She just knew. She’s a Divinator, after all.”

Percy sighed as the lift slowed to a stop. “I thought we were trying to get away from all this, not bring it with us.” He slid the gate open and stepped into the nearly deserted atrium.

“Oh, it’ll be fine, really. It’s just for the weekend, and none of them have ever been to Florida. Besides, Armand always prepares too much food, although now that I know how Terry and Ken can pack it away…”

Percy stopped before the bank of fireplaces. “Oh, it’ll be fine, I suppose. It’s just…”

“What is it, Perce?” Harry asked, touching Percy’s shoulder. "Second thoughts?”

Percy shook his head. “No, nothing of the sort.” He glanced about the atrium, the security wizard asleep behind his ever-present copy of _The Quibbler_. “It’s odd. This is what I thought I wanted.” He gestured expansively. “For as long as I can remember. I’d never dreamed of leaving The Ministry, or Britain. Before you, that is.”

Harry stepped close. “Well, if you’re not sure.”

“Oh, I am,” Percy insisted. “I suppose I’m just a bit concerned that I might not measure up. Or something.”

Harry squeezed his shoulder. “Well, I’m absolutely positive that you’ll do just fine.” He grinned. "And I don’t think you could be any more attractive than you are right now, for whatever that‘s worth.” He leaned up and pressed their lips together. “I know I’m not going anywhere that you’re not.”

Percy snuffled and straightened up. “Same here.”

Harry stepped over and grabbed a handful of floo powder. “See you in a minute.” He flashed that smile as he threw the powder and called out their destination, disappearing in a flash of green flame.

Percy stood there for many moments studying the intricate veining of the marble flooring. It was incredibly quiet in the atrium, and he thought the he could just hear the security wizard’s soft snores. He reached out, scooping up a handful of powder, watching as the grains spilt through the gaps between his fingers. Stepping into the hearth, he turned around, glancing about the atrium one final time. 

He smiled, thinking of Harry waiting for him at home. 

He chuckled. 

“Yeah, _home_.”

Percy threw the powder and disappeared in a burst of green flame.

 

**_~~~ fin ~~~_ **

 


End file.
